


"I'm walking on the edge, beside you, just dying."

by IrisofParadise



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Multi, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-10-08 16:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 48,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10391475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrisofParadise/pseuds/IrisofParadise
Summary: The stories are all the same. The universe lines up perfectly to allow you to meet your soulmate. Everything magically works out. You fall in love and run away into the sunset to live happily ever after. It'd be a dream come true.If it were actually really like that.





	1. "What's a soulmate?"

**Author's Note:**

> Some things before starting:  
> \- a big huge thanks to everyone who has listened to me scream about this for the past few months and tossed ideas back and forth with me.  
> \- this is my guilty ot4 and I love it and I'm so sorry but I just really wanted to write this so yeah this happened.  
> \- Ekaterina and Ivan are my oc parents for Vladimir and Anatoly (I have another fic which is basically just my headcanons/meta for the brothers growing up, "Louder Than Thunder". Picked the name Ekaterina because it's one of my faves and Ivan because it's the 'equivalent' of sorts to the name "John" (according to google) and John is a nickname for 'Jonathan' ba dum tss)  
> \- Sofiya and Semyon are my oc parents for Yelena.  
> \- in this soulmate au I'm playing with the prompt of soulmates sharing scars and I'm trying to combine MCU, comics, and cartoons. Since Yelena was in the cartoons (I screamed).  
> \- apparently prior to 1987 babies didn't get anesthesia before open heart surgery because it was believed that babies didn't feel pain? 
> 
> So yeah. Taking a lot of artistic liberties. Enjoy!

_**2024** _  
_**Hell's Kitchen, New York** _

"Papa, what's a soulmate?"

Vladimir pauses and it's silent for a few moments as he searches for the words to say to properly answer the young child before finally settling with, "Well, it's uhm..."

* * *

_**1980, December 23rd  
Moscow, Russia** _

Vladimir is small when he is born. Smaller than his brother had been and unlike his older brother he is littered in scars. Ekaterina holds him tightly in her arms, closer to her chest, and takes his small hand in hers and gently traces over the faint, pale marks.

Being born with scars isn't an odd thing or even an unwelcome one. But Ekaterina can't help but worry since the scars that litter her newborn son are those that a child could not survive. So she wonders _just how much older than her newborn baby is her son's soulmate_ and _are they okay?_

Vladimir is born early, two months to be exact, and so small. Covered in these faint scars and in the middle of December. Ekaterina doesn't want to put him down, even less so the more scars she finds. She’s afraid that if she were to put him down for even a moment she’ll lose him just as she had little Shura or Kolya or Vaska. And her heart couldn’t bear to lose Vladimir.

She studies the scars slowly. A small faint jagged line on his left hand from the knuckle of his index finger reaching to his wrist. A thicker even more jagged scar on his right middle finger. A longer but thinner one along his lower belly.

Ekaterina frowns as she traces it lightly and looks up concernedly to her husband. It's only when he gives her shoulder a gentle reassuring squeeze and a small tilt of the head that she finally allows the nurses to take her newborn from her. She holds the blankets tightly, balling them into her fists until her hands shake and knuckles turn pale, as she watches the nurse leave with her baby.

Ivan sees this and gently takes one of her hands into his and presses soft kisses to her fingertips before saying quietly, “He's beautiful Katyushka, dorogaya.” He grins when his wife finally looks up at him with a small smile tugging at her own lips.

“He doesn't look a thing like you, Vanyusha,” she laughs out softly.

And she's right. Vladimir took after her. Blonde hair, bright blue eyes, her nose. Nothing at all like Anatoly who was practically a mirror image of her husband.

Later that night when it's just her and little baby Vladimir, Ekaterina holds him and stares at the scars once more. She isn't sure how much older her son's soulmate must be but she can't help but want to cry and she wants to hold the other child tightly and give them all of the love she knows that they deserve, protect them as she would her own. The scars on her baby pop out to her and don't look right, unnatural. Not like accidents.

She softens her expression as she looks back down to the newborn and takes Vladimir's left hand in hers.

“You have your work cut out for you, don't you malenkaya?” She whispers in a soothing voice to the sleeping baby as she traces the scar on his hand with her thumb. The baby doesn't even wake. “You are going to have to give your soulmate all of your love, Vovochka. Even if they give you a hard time and are difficult to deal with at others.”

 

* * *

 

_**1985, April  
Kiev, Ukraine** _

Cries and a shrill scream pierce the air, one a baby's and the other a woman's.

“Lenochka!” Sofiya screams as she hears her one year old begin screaming and crying. She runs from the porch to her child.

It had started as a good time, her little baby playing outside that is, but little Yelena had the terrible habit of taking her shoes off as she played in the yard and always found trouble. And this time seemed no different than any of the past times. But rather than the baby stepping into ants or annoying the bugs, she'd somehow found a nail buried in the grass and stepped right on it, effectively stabbing her small foot.

Sofiya scooped her child into her arms and winced in worry, biting her tongue to stop herself from panicking, as she saw the blood dripping from Yelena's foot. Yelena continued to wail, crying out in sobs, “Mama! Mama!”

Sofiya tries to calm both her racing heart and her screaming baby as she makes her way back into the house, not even picking up her daughter's shoes. Her husband comes out of his office as he hears crying from the living room. His brows furrow in worry as he recognizes the crying to be his daughter.

It isn't like her other cries of when she's hungry or fussy or being pouty. She sounds like she is in pain and it worries him.

“Sonya?! What's wrong? Is Lenochka alright?” He asks, now hovering next to his wife in the living room.

His wife doesn't even look up from their daughter's head. “I don't know, Syoma. She stepped on a nail,” she explains softly, hoping her calm tone will soothe their baby.

It appears to work; Yelena's cries are beginning to be just that, cries and not screaming any longer.

“Why wasn't she wearing her shoes?” Semyon asks, sounding more annoyed than worried now.

Sofiya doesn't seem the least bit affected by his change in attitude. “You know that Lenochka doesn't like to wear her shoes when she goes to play outside. She just takes them off, dorogoi,” Sofiya says simply as she heads to the bathroom, Semyon following right behind her. “I need to remove this nail from her foot now. Do we have any bandages?” She asks, mindful to keep her tone calm.

Semyon nods and reaches into the medicine cabinet as Sofiya sets their daughter on the sink counter.

Yelena screams and kicks as her parents pull the nail from her foot, clean the wound, and wrap it. The sniffles pitifully and clings to her mama afterwards. She kicks again as her papa takes her ankle in his hand and stares at her bandaged foot.

“Maybe this will scar over on Lenochka's soulmate,” Semyon says, sounding bitter, as he lets go of her tiny foot. He didn't like his daughter's soulmate. Didn't like how many scars his baby girl had been born with.

Sofiya shoots him a look that clearly told him to hush his mouth. Unlike her husband she believed someone had beaten their daughter's soulmate and she wanted to protect the other child.

Semyon on the other hand believed their little Yelena's soulmate was much older than the one year old and he wanted nothing more than to keep Yelena as far from her soulmate as he possibly could.

Someone who carried that many scars and continued to receive them was someone with a dangerous history in his opinion.

 

* * *

 

_**1985, May  
Hell's Kitchen, New York** _

Maggie wants nothing more than to hold her baby in her arms and take him home. But she doesn’t pick him up, just leaves little Matthew sleeping alone in the hospital bed with tubes connected to his little body that looks even tinier in the bed.

Her husband reaches over and slowly trails his index finger along little Matthew’s arm until he’s slipping his finger into the baby’s right hand.

Jack looks up at Maggie and gives her a small smile. “He’ll be okay, Mag.”

Maggie’s smile is tense and small but she nods and allows his words to comfort her. “I know. He’s just like you.”

Her husband doesn’t respond verbally. Just slowly pets his son’s fluffy hair back from his face and watches the baby sleep.

The young woman stares down at her baby, tiredness being the only real emotion on her face. She stares at the large bandage on her baby’s chest and knows that her baby will have another scar to add to his collection that painted over his body like paint on a canvas. The only difference with this new scar being that it was his and it would be shared to his soulmate instead of the other way around.

Not for the first time Maggie slowly reaches forward until she’s taking Matthew’s left hand in hers and slowly traces over the jagged line on the back of his hand that reaches from the knuckle of his index finger all the way to his wrist.

From the moment she’d held Matthew in her arms she had wondered what his soulmate was like. What they’d done to to acquire all of these scars. How old they were. She’d been so scared to take him home. He was so small, smaller than she’d really expected a baby to be if she were completely honest, and he cried so often. The only time he seemed to not cry was when Jack was holding him.

Maggie supposed she should have been happy for that. But she wasn’t. She was tired and drained and jealous of her husband. But she hid it well for the most part.

Now they sat in the hospital room with their one month old baby and Maggie hoped that the surgery had been successful. That her baby would be able to breathe better now. There’d been a problem with his heart and he hadn’t been breathing properly and the doctors had used words like cyanosis and hypoxia soon after he had been born to describe the blue tint to Matthew’s lips and nail beds. He hadn’t had enough oxygen in his blood.

The words had made Maggie sick with worry.

They’d tried to hold off on surgery but after only a little over a month she and Jack had brought their baby back to the hospital for the surgery. Maggie had worried herself sick the whole time that Matthew was in surgery, asking a doctor if her son would be alright and saying, “He’s not going to be in any pain, right? He’ll be alright?”

Only for the doctor, an older man, to look her over and say patronizingly, “He’s a baby. Of course he won’t feel any pain.”

Maggie didn’t believe him at all.

She gives the scars on her son a long look and purses her lips as she stares at the bandage on his chest. She wonders what her son’s soulmate will think of the scar when they notice it.

 

* * *

 

_**1985, May  
Moscow, Russia** _

Natalia freezes under the cold spray of water but not because she has the shower as cold as she possibly can have it. No. It's because she sees a scar in the center of her chest. It's long and precise, a medical scar she notes dully to herself. Slowly she traces it, doesn't realize for several long moments that feel more like an eternity than seconds that she's holding her breath, and then slams her fist against the wall angrily.

For so many years she had been so glad that she didn't have a soulmate. It had been a relief but only after a handful of years of mourning her dear Alexei. They'd been young when they'd met in 1945, she only seventeen and him twenty, and neither had had scars that didn't belong to them. She'd fallen fast. How could she not? Alexei had been a perfect gentleman and arguably one of the most talented test pilots working for the Soviets.

She'd joined the war, fought in it, and when he had died, she'd thrown herself head first into the Red Room, where she'd been raised with twenty-seven other girls. Many years passed before she began to truly regret that decision. At the time it had been a good idea she'd thought. Ivan had encouraged her, seeming so proud when she'd begun to truly excel far more than the other young women. Alexei's death and loyalty to her country had driven her.

When the Red Room had taken her choice of ever having children she began to think that perhaps becoming the Black Widow hadn't been the best of ideas and it was the beginning of regret and doubt in her mind. It wasn't even that she wanted children, she hated children in fact, but the fact that the choice had been stolen from her is what made her angry and sad and resentful.

But that had been 1951 and she'd had more than enough time to get over it as Ivan had told her when he'd found her fighting back tears.

“Anya would not be crying,” Ivan had snapped at her quietly, eyes flicking everywhere as though waiting for someone to find them, to find her in this moment of what he deemed weakness. “You are better than this, Natashen'ka.”

A jerky nod of the head from her and he nodded, proud of her, then walked away with her following after him. She'd scowled at being compared to Anya, the little Recluse that she was. As though the sniveling girl could ever be anywhere near as great as she was.

A handful of years passed before she'd met him, the Winter Soldier. The man was one of her instructors and had taught her well. She fell in love once more, hated her heart for doing so, but was so overwhelmed with emotion that she longed to lock away when he fell just as hard for her as she had for him.

The Winter Soldier did not remember his name, had only ever been called 'Soldat' by their superiors. But she'd done some minor, innocent really, digging, some talking with Ivan, and had been supplied with the name James Barnes. She turned around and called him Yakov which seemed to please the soldier.

The only disappointing yet relieving thing had been that Yakov did not have any of her scars and she'd had none of his. They were, to some extent, safe from the Red Room.

But now all of that had changed. Natalia scowled down at the scar on her chest, glaring as if that would make it suddenly disappear. The very moment any of her superiors found out that she had a soulmate her soulmate would be in danger. The Red Room had taken her ability to have children as a means to keep her loyalty and devotion tied to her country and they would not let her have a soulmate.

Hell, she and Yakov were keeping their feelings for each other hidden so as to protect the other. She could not lose him as she'd lost her Lyosha and she would not lose her soulmate either.

She knew that she should report the scar to her superiors but just couldn't. The moment they find out, because it's not a matter of if but when, they would punish her she's sure of that.

Another frustrated punch to the wall and she turns the water off with a tired sigh, dries herself, and dresses for the day. She and Yakov have a mission to do and are to travel to Minsk in a handful of hours to spy on an ambassador and she doesn't want to think about the scar on her chest or a soulmate out there covered in her scars. She just wants to forget about all of that and do her job.

It's in Minsk when she and Yakov are together that he sees the scar on her chest and slowly traces it. She shivers at the touch of cold metal but doesn't say anything, just watches his face and waits for him to say something.

“You have not told anyone have you, Natasha?” He asks quietly, as though worried they'll be heard.

She doesn't blame him. Spies are everywhere. They know this better than anyone else as she herself is a spy.

Natalia shakes her head, sheets gripped tightly in her hands. She breathes out slowly as presses a kiss to her hairline and breathes out a calm response.

“Probably for the best.”


	2. "Love is for children. Consequently Любовь – сука.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Natalia Romanova meets a very young, surprisingly innocent Vladimir Ranskahov while she and Yakov are trying to run from the Red Room. 
> 
> Nothing ever goes as planned though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title comes from one of my favorite songs by Yulia Volkova and Dima Bilan, 'Любовь – сука'. I love it so much
> 
> Again, I am taking artistic liberties with this whole fic considering Vladimir isn't in the comics. Yelena isn't in MCU (yet). Natasha and Matt haven't met in the MCU (yet). And all four of them haven't met. Ever.
> 
> Lil baby Vladimir is probably one of my faves in this whole thing so far. Just sayin.
> 
> Little snippet of crack with Anatoly in like the middle but I really love it so it is staying. 
> 
> Also, I have Natalia using 'Nastal' as her fake name and Bucky using 'Mitya' because I was watching Don Bluth's 'Anastasia' and I'm complete and utter garbage and I'm okay with that. Ba dum tss.

**_1986, April  
_ ** **_Moscow, Russia_ **

Natalia doesn't want to admit it, out loud or even to herself, but she's nervous. She's never disobeyed direct orders before, yet here is she doing exactly that. It had taken nearly a full year before she and Yakov both were in agreement to leave. To run. To start their own lives without being under the control of the Red Room operatives.

The mission had been to gather intel with Yakov as her backup should she need it. She wouldn't have had they gone like they were supposed to. And after the mission the two of them were to meet Ivan Petrovich at the rendezvous point in St. Petersburg before leaving for another mission in Lithuania.

But she and Yakov hadn't gone to do the mission in Moscow at all.

Their handlers hadn't supervised a mission in quite a few years now and after Natalia had learned that Yakov was being kept in cryostasis they were now on their own mission of defecting from the Red Room.

So here she sat on a bench at the park with makeup covering the scars on her hands and a wig that is a dull blonde color, a boring and forgettable shade of blonde really, watching a few children play on the jungle gym and run around, laughing and not realizing how lucky they were. To outsiders she appears perfectly calm and at peace. One would think that she were a college student out enjoying the weather, not that there was much to enjoy as it was rather cool out considering it was April and the sky a light gray from the cloudy overcast. Natalia glances up, finds a child to watch over in case anyone were to see her. Now one would think she were a college student watching over her younger sibling between reading.

She looks at a young boy, watches him, but her eyes shift quickly, taking in every minute detail and making sure there were no other agents from the Red Room that may see her or Yakov. A glance back to the boy she's chosen to watch over and she absentmindedly bends a page in her book before unfolding it again. She wonders what it must be like to be so happy.

In all of her years of being raised by Ivan and the Red Room she'd never been to a park. Not really anyway. Her park had been an obstacle course where failing meant possible death if the headmistress was feeling particularly sour that day. There was no room for failure at any time ever.

It's by pure chance that she glances away from the brunette boy on the swings to see a blonde boy on the monkey bars, his shirt riding up slightly to show off a scar stretched across his lower stomach. She tenses, knuckles turning white as she holds her book tighter now. She knows that scar. She's looked at it every day for the past thirty-five years. The scar that is stretched across that child's stomach is the very mirror image of the one that she wears. Seeing it on this little boy is unsettling to say the least.

He slips from the monkey bars and hits the ground with a thud and a noise of surprise escaping his mouth. An uncharacteristic worry overcomes her as she hears the thud of his body smacking the cold ground. She supposes that must be what possesses her to get up from the bench and walk over to the child. And she couldn't explain, even later to Yakov when they talk about it, why she holds her hand out to him. She's just as surprised as the poor child is at the act of kindness it seems.

Cornflower blue eyes stare up at her, wide and unblinking, but then his much smaller hand is slipping into hers easily and she gently pulls him up to his feet.

“Thank you,” the boy says happily, if a tad dazed, beaming at her. He wears the trust for her on his face for the whole world to see but she can't find it in her to be upset at his naïvete. Not with him.

But her response is cold and curt, straight to the point. Just a simple, “You're welcome.”

He frowns at her tone and Natalia swears at herself internally for making his smile disappear.

“What is your name?” She asks, stooping so she is eye level with him and softening not only her tone but expression as well in hopes to not come across so frightening. This isn't a tone she is used to using. It's not one she ever thought she would really use if she's completely honest.

It does the job of making the child smile again and he seems to trust her enough to where he tells her his name. And brother's. And then his mama and papa's. His age and when his birthday is. He's in the middle of telling her his address when she stops him with a finger placed over his lips and a softly laughed out, “Oh, Vovka! I think that is enough now, don't you? Hm?”

The child, little Vladimir, flushes slightly at the reprimand and shuffles in spot almost awkwardly. He lets out a quiet gasp when she taps his nose with the tip of her finger, green eyes sparkling in amusement that she doesn't care to fully hide. She sees no harm in allowing him to see how happy he's making her.

“Sorry. My brother says I talk too much,” Vladimir says instead of running back to play like he knows he probably should. He doesn't know why he's still talking to her. He finds her pretty and he doesn't know the name for the feeling he feels in his chest that makes his heart feel almost at home every time he stares into her eyes. He finds himself unable to leave her just yet or look away from her. He wants to keep talking to her.

Unbeknownst to him she's feeling the same way. Every part of her feels so at peace with him right there. It's similar in a way to how she'd felt with Alexei and Yakov but also so different. Unique to just him.

She purposefully looks down at his hands and studies the pale scars on them. “What did you do to your hands, Vovka?” She asks, hoping beyond all hope that the child will say he did indeed receive them all by himself. That they aren't hers. She knows that it's considered rude by all standards to ask about one's scars but she has to know. Has to make sure that Vladimir isn't hers.

It feels as though her heart itself cringes painfully when the boy grins and stands up straighter as he says proudly, “I got them from my soulmate!”

Natalia covers the despair with curiosity quickly and continues to smile warmly at the child. “May I see them?” She asks, holding her hands out expectantly. She knows that he'll show her.

He doesn't disappoint at all.

Vladimir frowns, worries his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. But then places his hands in her extended hands. Natalia slowly trails her thumbs over the scars on his much smaller hands and notes to herself how much softer his hands are compared to her own. Not calloused at all and innocent but for the scars she gave him.

“I love them,” Vladimir says happily, staring at the small marks. It’s not just something he’s saying, he really truly means it.

Natalia looks up in shock from his hands to stare at his face. But he doesn't notice, just continues speaking. She had never loved her scars. In fact she'd hated them so much. They were the marks she wore from missions of killing people and training and fighting to survive. They weren’t pretty or something to love. So to hear her soulmate say that he loves them is a surprise in a way. She'd always thought should she be so lucky as to meet her soulmate that surely they would hate her for cursing them to bear her scars.

“They're from my soulmate. Mama says my soulmate has been through a lot to have all of these scars.”

It takes all of Natalia's self control to not snort in exasperation at that. It's an understatement if she's ever heard one. She felt as though she'd been through hell and back more times than she can count in the span of her life.

“She says that my soulmate is tough,” Vladimir continues, still looking at his scars but smile slipping just slightly.

Again, Natalia finds this an understatement. She's more than just tough and is almost insulted that Vovka's mama could only say that she was ' _ tough _ '. She had to make herself be to not just grow up but to survive the Red Room. She'd killed so many people, starting at the young age of seven. The very first girl to to have her life end in the Red Room had been one that Natalia had considered a friend. It had been a punishment to both Natalia and the other girl for even thinking such a thing.

“When I meet them though they won't have to be anymore. Because I will protect them and give them all of the love they need,” Vladimir says, tone full of determination. He looks up to stare into Natalia's eyes and she smiles sadly back at him.

Natalia knows that she should let him go back to play, should insist upon it really, but she isn't ready for him to do so and wants to keep his hands in hers. “What is your favorite color, Vovka?”

She just barely stops herself from frowning when he takes his hands from hers so he can cross one arm over his chest, the other resting on that arm and his hand forming a fist so he can rest his chin on it. His brows furrow in thought and his face scrunches up rather adorably. He even taps his foot as he searches for the proper response. It's quite clear that he's taking her question very seriously.

He looks up at the sky and frowns. Turns his attention back to stare into her eyes. And seems to find his answer. 

“Blue.” He says after a moment. “It's the color of the sky.”

At that Natalia laughs softly. “You must hate it then. It is so cloudy so often. All children of Moscow know the true color of the sky is gray, Vovka.” She explains when he gives her a questioning look.

The child shrugs but doesn't disagree with her at all. “I want to live somewhere where it is sunny all the time!” He says, grinning when she laughs softly at him. He likes her laugh and decides he wants to hear it some more.

“What's yours?”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “I'm sorry?”

He rolls his eyes just like how his mama would to his papa when he would say something silly. “Your favorite color. What is it?”

She purses her lips as she searches for an answer. ' _ A favorite color' _ , she thinks to herself with only a tinge of jealousy,  _ 'is normal.' _

It's something that normal people with normal lives have. But she'd never really thought about it as she'd never really had the time or reason to think about something as trivial as favorite color because what good would a favorite color do in the Red Room.

Natalia looks at the ground. Even it seems dull and gray under the overcast sky. And what with the still melting snow creating muddy puddles everywhere it doesn't seem any brighter at all. And come morning the slush will have frozen over once more she's willing to bet. She's in agreement with her young soulmate in regard to the fact that she doesn't like the grayness very much at all.

“Green,” she says, finally settling on a color. “It's the color of spring.” ‘ _ Of life.’  _  That thought she keeps to herself. 

Now it is Vladimir who giggles but then he nods in understanding. “Green is pretty,” he says, staring into her eyes for just a moment. She notices and the corners of her lips rise slightly and arches one perfect brow in her amusement as she realizes he has the formings of a crush on her. 

She expects for him to go play now. Almost wants him to. But he continues to surprise her.

“What's your name?” Vladimir asks, head tilting slightly as he realizes that she'd never given it.

“Nastal,” she lies easily.

She smiles softly as the child wrinkles his nose, seemingly not liking the name. Or possibly just not believing her subconsciously. She isn't sure which. But Vladimir gives a slow nod and says, “It's pretty.”

“Thank you.”

He nods once more and looks behind him, frowning. Natalia expects that he's going to go back and play with the other children but frowns when he turns his attention back to her and says, “I don't have very many friends. Do you want to be friends with me?”

Her heart clenches painfully in her chest at the sadness on his face. She preferred it much more when he was laughing. “Of course. I would love to be your friend, Vovka.”

And there it is. His bright infectious grin is once more spread across his face and making even her smile. They fall into a comfortable silence for only a handful of moments before they are being interrupted by Yakov when he softly calls out from a few feet behind Natalia.

“Nastal?”

The false name slips from Yakov's lips just as easily as it had Natalia's. The woman doesn't even look over her shoulder to him, continues to look at a now confused Vladimir. 

“Hello, Mitya, dorogoi.”

Vladimir's confusion quickly turns sour with pure annoyance at the endearing names. Both Natalia and Yakov bite back amusement at the child's distaste. When Yakov comes closer to the pair, Vladimir huffs softly and takes half a step back, not liking how close the man is standing to his new friend.

“Hello,” Yakov says as gently as he can to the tense child. He doesn't need to hear Natalia's nearly inaudible ' _ tsk _ ' to know that he didn't sound nearly as gentle as he'd intended. Clearly Vladimir isn't at ease with the man and just scowls up at him and instead turns to look back at Natalia.

“I have to go find my brother,” he says rather haughtily. Then surprises her by throwing himself at her, nearly knocking her over, before she can respond.

He throws his little arms around her neck and hugs her tight. He doesn't notice how she tenses under his touch but he does feel as she slowly hugs him back, arms wrapping very loosely around him.

“We'll see each other again, right?” Vladimir asks, leaning back but not stopping the hug just yet, staring into her eyes.

Natalia pauses as she runs his question over again and again to herself in her head. She doesn't want to hurt him, it's the very last thing she wants to do in fact, but she knows that more than likely they'll never see each other again. It would take a miracle for them to re-meet and Natalia knows that she is far beyond the help of a miracle. She also knows that should the Red Room find her and Yakov she could not chance them finding Vladimir as well. Not now, not ever.

But the way he is looking at her, eyes so wide and bright and blue with trust and hope painted on his face, oh it makes her want to preserve his innocent naïvete for as long as she can. Maybe this is the reason she opens her mouth and lies to him, “Of course we will, Vovka.”

This seems to please him enough to finally let go of her, shoot one final glare up at Yakov, then run off back to play and find his brother. Natalia stands now and watches him run to a group of teenagers and tug on a brunette boy’s hand. She doesn’t care to look at Vladimir's brother and prefers to watch the blond child for a few moments more. From her peripheral vision she can see Yakov looking at her, head tilted, in curiosity and says, “Did you get the maps?”

He gives a curt nod and holds up folded papers, presumably said maps. Tilts his head slightly and says, “Hotel?”

She doesn’t give a verbal answer just turns and reluctantly walks away from the park, side by side with Yakov. She ignores the pinch of her heart the further she leaves Vladimir behind and just barely manages to stop from placing her hand over her now racing heart. 

It’s not until much later that evening when the couple are packing what little they had managed to bring with them into their bag that Yakov speaks up. 

“He’s yours. Isn’t he?”

Natalia tenses slightly but continues to pack and determinedly plays dumb. “Who, Yasha?”

The man snorts, shakes his head, and pockets a knife. “Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you whatsoever, Natasha. It never has.”

Natalia sighs, her gun in hand, and stares out the window sadly. “He was. His hands are covered in my scars,” she states, raising her left hand so he can see the scars that are litter it. He's kissed each of these scars so gently, reverently almost. Her hand drops to rest on her hip. “His hands should be covered in scratches from falling down at the park. Not the scars I received while killing people. Now, are we leaving or not?”

Yakov tsks at her but takes her hint to drop the subject and picks the bag up. “Yeah, yeah. We're going.”

* * *

In a house not too far from the outskirts of the town a teenage boy with brown hair is trying to be quieter than a mouse as he opens the window in his and his younger brother's bedroom. He has one leg out when the six year old's voice groggily asks, "Tolik, where're you going?"

"Nowhere! Just go back to sleep!" The sixteen year old hisses back, hoping beyond hope that his brother will do as told for once and go back to sleep.

His hopes are destroyed though as the small child seems fully awake, gleeful as he is now aware that his brother is trying to sneak out and he can use this as blackmail for the future.

"Mama won't like you sneaking out, big brother," he drawls out, arms crossing and a smirk dancing its way onto his smug face.

Anatoly just scowls at him, knowing full well that Vladimir will go tell their mother unless Anatoly can come up with a reason on just why he shouldn't. It doesn't take Anatoly long to come up with a reason; the way to get Vladimir to do anything really was to go through his stomach. 

"If you go back to sleep and pretend you saw nothing, I will give you my dessert for the next week!"

And just as Anatoly was sure that he would, the child instantly perked up and let out an appreciative hum before nodding his head. "I am having a very strange dream." He says, faking a yawn and lying back down, giggling slightly as he watched his brother.

Anatoly just gave a nod, pleased that it was only the dessert that Vladimir wanted and not his hard earned allowance. "Yes, yes you are."

Vladimir rolled onto his side, gripped his favorite stuffed bear closer to his chest, and gave another loud yawn, this one more genuine. "G'night, Tolik."

The teenager waits a few moments more, just until he can hear his brother snoring softly, then rolls his eyes. "Good night, Vova," he whispers before stepping out into the cold.

He tugs the window closed, only keeping it cracked just enough that he will be able to reopen it later, and he hopes that the cold doesn't seep into the bedroom and make Vladimir sick; a sick younger brother usually meant that Anatoly would be kept awake with the child complaining about not being allowed to do anything before he was throwing his meals back up.

Anatoly begins the walk to the woods. It doesn't take too overly long but he shivers as a breeze whisks by, chilling him just enough that he's annoyed. It's been less than ten minutes and already he is hating that he had offered to do this. He hates himself for being so stubborn. When his friends had earlier said, insisted really, that the Winter Soldier was in the Moscow woods but been too afraid to go check the woods themselves, Anatoly, the stubborn teenager that he was, had shrugged nonchalantly and told his friends, “Well, I'll do it. I'll go look for him myself.”

Thus he found himself in this situation of being cold and tired and wanting to go back home and crawl back into his bed.

Soon enough though he's actually in the woods, being careful to not trip in the dark or make too much noise. He doesn't actually believe that the Winter Soldier is out here, there's just no way that a fable is actually real. So he gives himself an hour and a half, maybe two if he's particularly bored or more awake, before he'll go back home.

Time creeps by slowly it feels and he's beginning to wish he'd brought gloves as, while it may be early April, it is still cold. He's so lost in thought that he doesn't notice a particularly large pile of frozen over slush until he's slipping in it and crashing to the ground with a loud yell.

He hisses in pain as he rolls to sit on his butt instead of lying face first on the ground and he rubs at his shin.

"Stupid stupid stupid," he mutters to himself, mentally calling this whole idea stupid, himself stupid, and the weather stupid.

He doesn't hear anyone coming over to him or notice that he’s no longer alone until a gloved hand is in front of his face.

"Need help, kid?" A deep voice asks, jerking Anatoly back to the real world. He sounds reluctant and annoyed. 

Anatoly stares at the offered hand then up at the man. He's not bad looking, could probably use a shave and some sleep if the dark circles under his eyes were any indication, before taking hold of the hand. "Thank you."

The man just shrugs, slipping his hand into his pocket. "You're welcome. What are you doing out here anyway?"

Anatoly rolls his eyes as he remembers just why he is out in the woods and feeling as though he may just freeze to death. "I'm looking for the Winter Soldier," he sneers out, annoyed that he's confessing this to an adult, even if said adult doesn't look that much older than he himself is.

The man jerks slightly, eyebrow raising and eyes narrowing. "Why?"

Anatoly shrugs, not noticing that the man is tensed now and gripping a knife that he had hidden in his pocket.

"I'm proving to a friend that the Winter Soldier isn't real. You haven't happened to see him around here, have you?" Anatoly asked sarcastically, rolling his eyes once more. He hopes that he doesn’t look as stupid as he feels. 

The man eases even if only slightly and he gives a jerky shake of the head.

"No. Of course not. The Winter Soldier is a ghost story, kid." He says right before a woman slides out of the shadows to stand beside him.

She nods her head slightly at Anatoly and loops her arm through the man's right arm.

"Yasha, we need to go," she breathes out softly, eyes moving quickly to take in anything that may be out of place, nodding her head further away from the city.

He, Yasha,  _ 'Yakov _ ,' Anatoly's mind automatically corrects, nods and turns to follow her lead. "See you around, kid."

An amused scoff laugh from the woman and the man smiled ever so slightly at her.

Anatoly watches the couple, for surely that is what they must be. They look at each other much like how his parents look at each other; as if the other had hung up the stars just for them. As if the other were the only thing keeping them going throughout the days. As though they are each other's life line.

He wonders what they're running from but decides that it doesn't concern him and makes to turn away only to freeze as he watches the man raise his left arm, coat sleeve raising to show his wrist.

A wrist that glints in the moonlight, an obvious sign of light bouncing off of metal. The woman raises her hands to fix her hat, tucking a few strands that are slipping free back into it. But not before Anatoly catches sight of the the darker than blood red color.

_ 'The Black Widow. The Winter Soldier!'  _ Anatoly thinks to himself, eyes wide as he watches their retreating figures. He quietly steps forward, then quicker, and he begins following them.

_ 'It can't really be them. Can it? They're not real, just myths!'  _ He thinks, making sure to keep a few yards of distance between himself and them.  _ 'What are they even doing out here? Is this really happening?!' _

A pinch to the back of his hand and he winces just a bit at the sharp pain.

_ 'Yes. Real. It's them. The Winter Soldier. The Black Widow. They're real. This is real.' _

Anatoly is far enough away from the woman and man that he doesn't hear as she breathes out, sounding almost exhausted, "Do you think he realizes that he's thinking out loud?"

The man just shrugs slightly and breathes back, "Who cares, we need to get rid of him." She nods and lets go of his arm.

Anatoly is so lost in thought that he doesn't realize that the couple in front of him are slowing and that he's getting closer to them until he nearly collides into them both. But he doesn't get a chance to even attempt to stutter out an apology as the Black Widow hits him really hard right in the face, fist connecting with his nose rather harshly. Not enough to break the boy's nose, just enough to knock him over.

Then kicks him over so he falls onto his back on the frozen ground once more. 

He lets out a startled yelp and tries to shake away the mild case of dizziness he just received and the couple of Soviet assassins take this as their queue to leave him in the muddy slush of melting snow in the middle of the woods.

He just barely hears, "I think I love you," said in a voice akin to that of a starstruck lover.

And he just barely hears back her laughed out response of, "Well I should hope so. Considering how far we've gotten and all." She sounds only a tad sarcastic, as if it's a joke between them how far they've come.

Anatoly scowls and blinks, wincing at the headache he now has. ' _ The Black Widow is a bitch,'  _ he finds himself thinking, annoyed at how easy it'd been for her to hit him. 

It’s decided right then that he won’t tell any of his friends how a woman had just nearly knocked him out, even if said woman was the Black Widow herself. 

He has half a mind to continue following after the assassins. But in the end he decides that if following them meant getting punched again, or worse, he’d really rather not. So he picks himself up from the ground and begins the trek back home, hoping beyond hope that his mother is still asleep.

But as Anatoly begins the walk home, Natalia and Yakov walk further and further away, hoping to make it out of Moscow by morning.

“I think you had far too much fun punching that poor bastard,” Yakov breathed out as they walked.

Natalia just gave a snort-laugh in dry amusement. “Perhaps.” A pause. Then, “I have had a long day.”

Yakov shook his head in amusement but changed the subject back to what was truly important; getting them out of Russia. The teenager had been a welcome distraction for them both but it was time they got back on track. “I still think we should just go to Brest.”

Natalia shakes her head, a quick jerk of the head that he nearly misses. “No. Odessa. I want to be out of Moscow by morning. By now the Red Room has noticed that we’re not coming to the rendezvous point.”

Both know this to be true and fall into a tense silence, now only focused on making it out of the woods. They stop only twice, just to take turns resting and keeping watch, before they’re traveling once more. It takes four full days for the Red Room to catch them, not even in Kiev let alone Odessa.

They try to run, to fight, to do anything. But the moment the other agents begin saying Yakov’s trigger words and the sentence,  _ “Ready to comply, _ ” slips from his lips, Natalia knows they’ve lost. They get taken right back to Moscow. 

Natalia is on edge and blinking back tears that she refuses to let fall as she watches Yakov get his memories taken away and put back into cryostasis. She doesn’t flinch when they say they’re taking her memories next. Just clenches her fists by her sides and stares straight ahead. And thinks of Yakov and Vladimir both. 

The innocent look that Vladimir had been giving her at the park.

The way he had so innocently and proudly proclaimed his love for his soulmate who’d cursed him with scars.

She nearly scoffs. _ ‘Love is for children,’ _ she thinks.  _ ‘And a bitch.’  _

These are the last things she remembers thinking before her memories of the past week are stolen from her.


	3. "Троньте меня с вашим телом и покрасите меня с вашим цветом."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two blondes meet at a sex club and things still never go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like how in the last chapter Vladimir is such an innocent, sweet, lil dumpling baby. And then in this one he's just a fricken bag of dicks. Also a mild masochist...  
> Vladimir "Punch me. In the face. With your billy clubs. Please." to Matt in the future.  
> Vladimir "Step on me..." to Natasha probably.  
> Vladimir "Please... hit me again. I'm begging you." to Yelena too often.
> 
> The man knows what he wants. (a concussion maybe)
> 
> Anyway!  
> I always picture Natalie Dormer as Yelena. More specifically, Natalie from Captain America: the First Avenger. Because the uniform and the way her hair is styled, it's Captain Yelena from Pale Little Spider. My poor ace bean doesn't know she's ace yet.

**_2003  
_ ** **_Moscow, near Staroprivoskiy Prospekt_ **

The first thing Yelena notices is that Fabrika had yet to be shut down for some ungodly reason. And for some reason, Yelena found herself visiting, ignoring the loud music. Ignoring the loud moans from people all around the club who are nearly tripping over themselves as they lead the way or are led down the stairs to the rooms below. She instead chose to focu on the shots of alcohol before her.

The second thing she notices is that it is rather odd that Nikki wasn’t anywhere to be seen. But Yelena just puts it off to the other woman possibly being downstairs with her clients.

She shudders at the thought. Then purses her lips.

Growing up had not been easy for Yelena. Her papa was in the military, a major actually, and he worked for the program that Yelena would one day find herself readily devoting her very life to.

When she had turned five her papa had made her schooling stricter, more advanced than the other children her age. She was taken from the local school and placed under private tutors to ensure that she had the best education.

Semyon had always told Yelena that he'd done it for her, to help her become better than all of the other children. To make sure that she was better than her soulmate. He'd constantly told her, “You will be so much better than they are, Lenochka.”

She'd begun to believe him.

But she still stared in childish wonder at the scars that painted her body and only when she was sure her papa was nowhere near would she trail her fingertips gently across the marks on her hands and the one on her stomach and her chest.

Eventually more would begin to spring up on her skin. One on her right hip. A few marks that she would later learn were made very deliberately were on her left wrist, all very even in length and distance apart. More and more but she never hates them. Not like her father did.

When the other children were learning colors, the alphabet, beginning to sound out words, she had been learning math and was already reading at a far higher level.

As she neared the age of ten her papa told her about the Red Room and how it was an honor to be picked to be in the program and how he wanted her to be one of the children chosen. He'd told her how much pride she could bring to their family. He wanted for her to succeed.

It was an honor to serve Russia. Even more so to serve through the Red Room.

This had been drilled into her since she was a child. 

So she continued pushing herself in her studies and extracurricular physical activities until when soon after her tenth birthday she was picked for the Red Room. She was at peak physical perfection for a child her age. It was no surprise when she was chosen and her papa had very gladly told her the news.

Semyon had been so proud of his daughter, picked her up in a tight hug and laughed in relief, “You've done it, Lenochka! I knew you would!” The last part is whispered.

But as proud as Semyon had been, Sofiya was just as sad. Her mama had bitten her tongue, clenched her fists to her sides, and not said a word. The blonde woman helped her daughter pack with tears in her eyes that she refused to let fall.

Yelena was her only daughter, only child, and come morning she would be boarding the train for Moscow with Semyon. There was no telling when, or if for that matter, Sofiya would see her child again.

It did not matter how often over the past six years Semyon had exasperatedly told his wife that the Red Room was not like how it used to be. It wasn't as barbaric as when it had first begun so long ago. 

Sofiya never believed him. 

She knew about Natalia Romanova and how she'd killed in the Red Room even as a young child. And she'd heard about a woman who'd trained alongside her and who had defected to the United States so many years ago and who now went by a new name, an American one.

Sofiya did not want to lose her child.

As it would be, Yelena seemed to pick up on her mama's distress. Just... well not for the correct reason behind what was bothering her mama so.

The girl pulled her mama into a hug, looked up at her and promised far more seriously than a child should sound, “I will make you and Papa proud, Mama.”

Soifya sighed, cupped her daughter's face in her hands, and said, “Oh, Lenochka, my heart, you've already made me so proud by just being you,” before kissing the girl's nose swiftly.

Yelena had wrinkled her nose, flushed slightly at her mama's embarrassing show of affection, and turned to go back to packing her clothes. Come morning she was hugging her mama tightly before following her papa to board the train.

Sofiya did not cry until she was home alone, the house so much quieter than it had been in the past ten years.

The ride was long, just over half a day, and by the time the train arrived in Moscow Yelena was sleepy. A car was sent to fetch her and her father and on the way to the Red Room headquarters she fell in love with the sights of the city. Moscow was gorgeous. More so than Kiev in Yelena's opinion. She couldn't wait to see it all.

They were led to the Red Room where they were greeted by a man in a uniform almost exactly like her father's. She is introduced to Lieutenant Colonel Pyotr Starkovsky and told that he will be the one in charge of training her in combat. It's the first deputy general who notices the scars on her hands. They're the first anyone ever notices as the rest are easily covered by her clothing.

“Yours or soulmate's?” He asks, sounding as though he already knows the answer to his question.

Semyon stiffens ever so slightly beside his daughter and glares at the wall as though it had personally offended him.

Yelena runs the question over in her mind then stands straight and tall and puts on her most condescending expression, one she had mastered after years of mimicking her father behind his back.

“Soulmate's.” A scoff from the man and she continues, sounding bored, “Not that they matter. My duty is to my country first and foremost. If my soulmate refuses to accept that then I have no use for them. I am here to become the Black Widow and nothing will stand in my way of achieving that. If someone tries then I will crush them myself.”

She says it so surely. Not even a tremble to her voice and no hesitation.

It pleases not only him but her papa as well. One day she’ll learn it even pleased Pyotr. But there was very little she could do that wouldn’t please Pyotr.

And Yelena knows that if this were a test she had just passed with flying colors.

Now she finds herself mourning the death of Pyotr. The man who had been more like a father to her than her actual father had ever truly been. She didn't want to think about figuring out Pyotr's feelings for her. Didn't want anything tainting the memory of him. But she’d be lying if she said she didn’t have a more personal motive for coming to the sex club.

Yelena didn’t understand her feelings. She’d told Nikki she wasn’t a lesbian, told the other woman she was nothing. Meant it. But it wasn’t true. Not really anyway.

She didn’t know as she had never been with anyone in any type of intimate way. She didn’t have a need for it and didn’t care or think anything of it until entering Fabrika and it was pointed out to her that maybe something could be wrong with her. Now she wanted to know how she felt. What she was. 

Her still full shot glass nearly slips from her hands when a man jerks her from her thoughts as he slides into the stool to her left and drawls out, “What's your name, pretty girl?”

“None of your damn business,” she snaps back, scowling as she stares straight ahead not even sparing him a glance. She may have wanted to experiment but only on her own terms. And currently she was not yet ready,  _ drunk enough  _ her mind tells her, to do so.

The man lets out a small tsk sound but doesn't take her hint. “Come on now,” he says, wrapping an arm around her and letting his hand trail far too low down her back for her comfort. “Pretty girl like you in a place like Fabrika. What do you want?”

“For you to remove your hand from my body before I remove it from yours,” Yelena practically spits out, tone full of venom. She nearly pulls the knife that she has hidden in her boot and stabs him in the throat. But only just barely stops herself.

It wouldn’t do well to cover a murder in the sex club after all. Especially not so soon after the past four. 

Oh how she hated Fabrika. Despised the place really. To properly mourn Pyotr's death along with experimenting with herself she was willing to suffer at the horrid club though. People having sex nearly in the open was bad enough but downstairs it was far worse.

It was obvious what the man wanted from her and clear what he thought she was doing there.

The man lets out a huff, gets even closer to her personal space and says, “Come on. What can I do to change your mind? I can do anything,” he rubbed what was supposed to be soothing circles onto her back and took her tenseness as a 'yes'. “Anything you want, honey.”

“Call me honey again. I dare you,” Yelena snapped back, now turning to face him and shooting him a frigid cold glare.

The man didn't take the hint. Instead he took this as a type of foreplay. This woman in front of him was a lot like Petra in more than just the looks department and he did so love spending a night with Petra. 

“I can call you honey all night if that makes you happy.”

“I am giving you one last warning to go awa-”

“Oh come on!” The man interrupts her, now sounding annoyed at her. “Come downstairs with m-”

“The bitch said to leave her alone!” A new voice snaps out loudly, a clacking noise follows as he slams his own glass down onto the bar top.

He wasn't very loud, still softer than the music blaring, but his voice did the job of getting both Yelena's and her unwanted guests attention. Both Yelena and the man turn and Yelena scowls as she sees a blonde man not even looking at them from his spot two stools down from the first man bothering her.

The first man scowled at the blonde, looked him over, and stood from his stool but continued to stand too close to Yelena for her comfort.

“Why don't you mind your own business. I'd hate to have to hurt you,” he said.

Yelena wanted to punch the cocky self assured smirk right off his face. And it would seem the blonde did as well.

The blonde turns his face down slightly and huffs out a breathy laugh. “You? Hurt me?” He turns now on his stool so his back is to the bar, arms resting back on the countertop and head cocked slightly. “I would love to see you  _ try _ .”

The man tenses beside Yelena and she raises an eyebrow at him before glancing back at the smirking blonde. The first few buttons on his shirt are undone allowing for a trail of ink to be seen. There's barbed wire painted into the knuckles of his left hand along with a few scars. She supposes the tattoos must mean something but doesn't care to know what.

A scoff from the first man interrupts Yelena's thoughts and he takes a step away from her finally, muttering under his breath, “Fine. Whatever. There's plenty of other women,” before leaving the two blondes alone.

The blonde rolls his eyes, shoots a sneer at the retreating man's back, then turns back to the bar. Yelena watches him, stares coldly as he picks his glass back up and waves the bartender, a woman a handful of years older than the man appeared to be, over.

“I do not need you or anyone else to fight battles for me,” Yelena finally snaps out. She ignores as the bartender raises an eyebrow at her before she walks away.

The blonde isn't even trying to be discreet as he looks her up and down. He looks her straight in the eyes and snorts into his glass of juice mixed with vodka.

“Please. You are what? Twenty pounds soaking wet?” He takes a sip of his glass as he sees her flush in mild embarrassment. Yelena hates to admit it but he is right to an extent; she's too thin by any health standards. He shrugs, not caring about how upset his words seem to have made her. “Looks like you needed the help so you're welcome, you whiny bitch.”

It's a surprise to them both but mostly the man when she throws the small glass shot at him. Vodka spills all over his sleeve when the glass hits his arm and then the sound of glass shattering as it falls to the floor. He turns to look down at the mess on the floor then to his sleeve before scoffing, an amused smirk dancing on his lips. And the bartender whips her head up to glare at the two blondes.

“You take it back!” Yelena snaps out, now standing from her stool and taking a few steps closer until only one stool separated the two of them. “I am no bitch!”

The bartender makes her way over to them both before he has the chance to snap something back to Yelena and she slams her palms down on the countertop to get their attention. “I'm not cleaning any messes!” She snaps out, glaring sternly at Yelena.

The blonde man's smirk grows ever more as he watches Yelena narrow her eyes at the woman. Her fists clench and shake slightly at her sides, aching to fight her now too.

“I'll pay for it, Ira,” he offers simply.

He shrugs as both women look at him, Irina in annoyance and Yelena with nothing but pure venom in her eyes. It's clear that it's going to take more than just paying for a broken glass for Irina to not kick him and Yelena from the bar.

“My brother and I are staying for a few days longer before we go for a...” He trails off, glancing up as though searching for the correct word and hoping it will fall from the sky. He taps his thumb against the glass then grins. “Vacation.”

Yelena frowns, glancing between him and the now blushing brunette woman. It's clear that they know each other, are possible friends. Which must mean that he comes to Fabrika very often. Which disgusts Yelena to the point where she nearly gags.

Irina crosses her arms over her chest and moves so that she's standing with more weight on one foot and one hip is cocked out. “So?”

“I can bring him tomorrow night? You two can...” He trails off purposefully this time, tilting his head to the stairs and knowing that she'll understand exactly what he means.

Now Yelena can't bite back a scoff. He's disgusting and she imagines his brother is no better.

Irina rolls her eyes. “Your brother is a gentleman,” she ignores the snort-laugh from the blonde. “Unlike you,” she finishes dryly.

A scoff from the man and he has half a mind to tell her just how wrong she is but instead keeps his thoughts to himself. “You want me to bring him or not?” He asks, rolling his eyes at her.

She sighs but turns around. “Fine, fine! You're paying for that glass  _ and _ bringing your brother tomorrow! So don't forget, you asshole.”

The man picks up his glass and takes another sip before saying in what could only be described as a flirty tone, “If you promise not to throw it at me, I'll buy you a drink.”

Yelena scowls at him. The way he'd said it made her feel awkward and she wasn't sure how best to react. “Do not talk to me as though I am a child.”

He swivels on the stool so his left elbow is resting on the counter top, head leaning on his fist, and right ankle crossed to rest on his left knee. “Alright,” he agrees slowly, giving her one more look over. “Would you like a drink?”

He still says it flirtily but there’s a different note to it. Softer, not by much but still there, as though he’s worried he’ll scare her off. 

Yelena purses her lips and looks past him. “What if I say no?”

The man raises an eyebrow and shrugs her question away. “Then I can leave you alone. I don't need to beg for a woman.” He hums, shaking his foot slightly as an amusing thought seems to cross his mind. “Well, unless you are into that sort of thing. Then I suppose I can beg a little.” 

He says it teasingly and tilted his head when she let out a small gasp as a light flush appeared on her cheeks giving her a now more healthy color. He thinks she looks better with a bit of color to her previously pale complexion. 

The blonde man clicks his tongue as he turns once more on the stool, now sitting to face the bar. He picked up his glass once more. “Though if we are going to do the begging thing-” she scoffs but doesn't say anything, “- I would suggest we move somewhere a bit more... private? Hm?”

He raised his glass to his lips and looked at her, eyebrow raised.

The intent is crystal clear, just as it had been with the previous man.

Yelena purses her lips and looks away from him, hair covering her ears which she can feel have warmed from her blushing. She doesn't like his teasing at all. But her heart does race when their eyes meet and she does feel  _ something _ in her chest she just doesn’t know  _ what _ or  _ why _ . 

“What if I do not want to go with you?”

The man shrugs and sets his glass back on the counter with a clacking sound from icecubes hitting each other. “Then I think that I am going to go talk with someone else now.” He makes a show of looking away from her to look around the room. “There are plenty of other people here. So goodbye.”

He stands from the stool, grabs his coat from where he’d set it beside him, and is about to walk away when she stops him with a blurted out, “What if I want to?”

Yelena stands straighter when he turns back to face her. Her heart races in her chest so quick and loudly she thinks it a miracle that he can't hear it. She thinks he's a better person to use than the previous man. Blonde and bright blue eyes, well, he isn't bad to look at. And to add on to this she still feels  _ something _ which is so much better than  _ nothing _ . 

The man shrugs once more, nonchalant as all hell and seeming amused by her.

It annoys Yelena.

He on the other hand feels the same thing she does. A slight almost tug like feeling in his chest. A feeling that screams  _ this is right _ . He figures he just wants her. 

“Well if you want to then I know exactly where we can go.”

When she said nothing he turned to go pay for his drinks and the glass Yelena had thrown at him, promises Irina that he’ll be sure to bring his brother tomorrow. Then he walks right past her. Yelena tenses, figuring he's going to head downstairs just like so many had already gone, but then frowns in confusion when he continues walking to the club's entrance.

“So we are not going downstairs?” Yelena asks confused and liking the feeling, grabbing her coat from the countertop and following after him.

He scoffed and she didn't see as he rolled his eyes. “God no. I hate downstairs. I'm also not into the dominatrix shit they have going on down there.” He paused, tugged his own coat on, and made a face as they walked out of the warm club into the brisk chill. “Unless  _ you _ want to step on me. In which case my hotel room is a very short walk from here.”

Yelena made a face and he laughed.

“Well, with the way things seem to be going I may be the one doing most of the stepping on you, huh?” He asked, laughing as if he'd told a funny joke.

But Yelena doesn't find it nearly as funny as he seemed to. She reached forward, grabbed the back of his coat into her fist and shoved him against a building's wall. There was only a slight tinge of pride in her chest as he yelped at the sudden impact of brick to his back.

She shoved against his chest and glared up at him, moving closer and nearly on the tips of her toes to hiss at him, “You step on me and I will snap your fucking neck.”

He looks down at her lips, licks his own quickly, then slowly nods.

“Fine. It was a joke anyway. Shit.”

A few moments pass before Yelena finally takes a step back. He waits another moment more before fixing his coat and walking forward again. They walk in silence now.

Yelena isn't aware of where the man's thoughts seem to be heading. But he thinks about how he much he could sell her for. Or if it would even be worth the hassle to try. She'd proven she could and would very well fight back.

He did like a challenge though and let out a soft hum.

He's only yanked back to the present situation when she asks him in a clear tone, “Why do you hate downstairs at Fabrika?”

“Uh... was sixteen the first time I went to Fabrika,” he says slowly. Now he is the only flushing in embarrassment and Yelena can't help as a satisfied smirk makes it's home on her face. “And that will be all that I say on the topic. And you know what? You never told me your name.”

Yelena snorts softly under breath but allows the change in subject. “You never told me yours either,” comes her dry retort.

“Hm. I suppose that's fair. You'll want that so you can scream it later,” he said, smirking once more.

Yelena frowned as she saw his smirk. She thinks she likes it better when he's nearly shaking. “Why would I be screaming?”

He freezes. Then slowly turns to look down at her, eyes a fraction wider and mouth open. “Because I'm not terrible in bed?”

All she says is a simple confused, “Okay.”

But he still seems a tad sore at her implications. “Your blushing virgin act is annoying,” he mutters, not fully expecting for her to hear him.

Yelena frowns. “It’s not an act.”

And he freezes.

Slowly turns on his heel to face her. “What?”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “It is not an act. I’ve never done this before.” She says it slowly so he can understand her and simply, no hesitation, as though she were discussing the weather or she were talking to General Stelyenko about her training.

But the man looks as though he’s been hit. They both stop walking right outside of an obviously cheap hotel and face each other, her with her head cocked and eyebrow raised and no longer flushed from his embarrassing flirting but only the chill in the air. 

“You can’t be serious.” He stares at her. “You are.” He scoffed, shaking his head as though exasperated, ran a hand through his hair. “And you go to  _ Fabrika  _ of all places to lose it? You  _ are  _ crazy!”

An aggravated huff leaves Yelena's lips before she can stop herself and she steps closer to him, nearly getting in his face once more. “If I am crazy for going to Fabrika then what does that say about you?”

He shrugs. “I like to go for the alcohol.” He leaves the rest unsaid; _ 'And to kidnap a few women who make it too easy.'  _ It’s his job after all.

Yelena scoffs, clearly not believing him but she just thinks that he's lying about going for only the alcohol.

“Are we going in or not?” She asks, gesturing with a head nod to the hotel.

He shakes his head but turns and opens the door, holds it for her, then moves to lead the way to his room. Anytime he and his brother come to this section of Moscow, the older man always made it habit to never room with the blonde for nights like this where said blonde was now bringing a young woman to his room.

Yelena moves quicker, walks with a steady pace to the stairs, foregoing the elevator, with the man rolling his eyes but following her.

“You don't know which floor, let alone room, to go to,” he said, amused with her sudden taking control of the situation and her what he presumed to be eagerness. 

The young woman made a face which he did not see but slowly stepped to the side on the stairs and allowed him to properly lead the way to the correct floor. Once the two are in his room, Yelena looks around the mostly bare room.

It had the essentials. A bed in the center of the room that was twice as big as the small one she had in her bedroom back at the Red Room, a small wooden nightstand, and a desk next to the door. He doesn’t turn the lights on, instead seeming to prefer the natural light filtering in through the thin curtains. Which leaves the room mostly in darkness.

The sound of shuffling makes Yelena look back behind her to the man. She tenses as she watches him kick his shoes off before tossing his coat onto the desk. He makes a face as he tugs on his shirt sleeve and glares at the stain of vodka.

“I love vodka about as much as the next person,” he begins, unbuttoning his shirt halfway, “but I don't want to wear it. Maybe next time refrain from doing that.”

Yelena scoffs. “You think there is going to be a next time?” She asks, taking half a step back when he steps forward.

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Maybe not with me but I'm sure there will be a next time with someone,” he says with a smirk.

Yelena gets the feeling she's missing out on an inside joke but finds she doesn't care.

“Would you mind taking your shoes off?”

It's more of a statement than a question but Yelena complies, unzips and toes off her shoes and kicks them under the desk so they're out of the way. This pleases him. To an extent. He bends down, grabs her boots and sets them next to his shoes beside the door while she takes her coat off and places it gently over his.

Her eyes shoot wide open when suddenly his mouth is on hers and she shoves him hard on the chest. The push is effective, he grunts and takes a step back and she covers her mouth with the back of one hand, her eyes still wide.

“Wh- why... did you just do that?” She asks shakily, struggling not to lose her composure.

He raises an eyebrow, scowling at her as he snaps back, “What the hell are we waiting for exactly? That's the whole reason I brought you here. Remember?” At her stunned silence he rolls his eyes. “Oh you poor thing,” he drawls out in a half mocking tone.

Then his eyes shoot wide open when her palm smacks his face, leaving his cheek red and stinging from the hit.

“Don't you  _ dare _ talk to me like that! You do not talk to me like that!” Yelena yells. She doesn't hear his voice saying that to her, she just hears Nikki's voice from the other day, mocking her.

The man slowly raises his hand to rub at his stinging cheek as he glares at her. “All you had to do was say stop.”

She huffs, chest heaving slightly from the adrenaline building up.

He purses his lips but then crosses his arms over his chest and steps closer to her once more. “Are we actually going to do anything now or are you going to keep hitting me? Not that I really mind the hitting, just not in the face” he says almost as an afterthought. “Anywhere else is fair game. Again, I don't mind if you step on me.” He doesn't even try to be subtle as he looks her up and down once more or as he gives a nod of approval.

The thought of  ' _ she should eat more'  _ crosses his mind but he brushes it away. Her health and safety are of no importance to him when come morning he'll be taking her selling her. 

Yelena scowls and moves forward as though to kick him and he jumps back. 

“Ahh! I have one more place I really don’t want to be hit, thank you very much!”

It takes Yelena a moment to understand what he means but then her expression twists into annoyance. 

“You are disgusting!”

The man just shrugs, dropping his tense pose for a more relaxed one. “Honestly, I have been called far worse. So I will take being  _ ‘disgusting’ _ .” He pauses, stares at her. “Now. I am going to kiss you again, okay? Are you done hitting me?”

“Probably not,” Yelena says truthfully.

He shrugs. “Eh it’s worth it.” 

And with that said, he moved forward to kiss her once more. One hand moved to cup her face, the other moved to the back of her head. Yelena stood tense and still, eyes wide and hands hanging uselessly by her sides.

After a few moments of his mouth moving against hers he pulled away to mutter, “For the love of god, please close your eyes.”

“How did you know they were open?” She asked just as quietly.

He pulled further away, eyebrow cocked. “I can feel you glaring daggers into my head. Relax.”

Then his mouth is on hers again. She slowly squeezes her eyes closed and tries to breathe evenly through her nose. The smell of expensive cologne and vodka from earlier fill the air between them. She doesn't like the smell of the alcohol and hesitantly moves her hands from her sides to finish unbuttoning his shirt.

He gives a pleased hum as he feels her moving and he removes his hands from her body so he can let her shove his shirt off. He's glad he didn't wear an undershirt that day so he doesn't have to break the kiss.

Once his shirt hits the floor he groans out softly against her lips, “That's better,” before he's moving his hands down to her hips.

Yelena flushes as he holds her tight and pulls her flush against him. A moment of her still and feeling awkward once more then she slowly moves her mouth against his, trying to mimic him. It seems to please him as he begins to slowly kiss his way from her lips to her jawline down to her neck where he begins to suck above her shoulder.

She slowly leans closer, effectively making him break his kisses to her neck, and slowly presses her own kiss to the center of his throat. She isn't sure whether she likes this or not. She feels like she should but isn’t sure yet. The kissing is nice. But it’s the thoughts of what comes after kissing that makes her tense and want to choke.

He doesn't know any of the thoughts or feelings racing through her mind, just slowly begins to slip his fingers under her shirt. She jumps at the feel of his fingertips right above the hemline of her jeans and moves reflexively. Grabs his wrists and holds them tightly, just barely refraining from breaking them.

But he seems to understand that she's uncomfortable and so tugs his hands away, moves back to kiss her mouth once more, and just rests his hands on her hips, fingers slipping into her belt loops and pulling her just a fraction closer against his body.

She feels awkward, unsure of what to do in this situation and that frightens her. She doesn't like being unsure of things. Would much rather know exactly what to expect and what to do. She nearly stumbles when he begins to move, nudging her towards the bed.

He snickers into her neck as he feels her stumble and hears her gasp then picks her up far more easily than he thought it would be. Yelena gasps as she feels herself being lifted and unthinkingly wraps her arms and legs around him, not wanting to be dropped which she knew was a stupid fear as she had gone through far worse than being dropped to the floor. 

She lets out a content sigh as he carefully places her on the surprisingly comfortable bed but then gulps nearly audibly when he holds himself above her, his elbows resting on the mattress and right above her shoulders.

Yelena hesitantly loops her arms back over his neck. Gives a small tug and hopes he’ll catch her hint and move back down to plant kisses on her mouth.

She likes that.

Kissing is nice and she even liked it when he was kissing her neck.

And he seems to like it too. Likes it even more when she pushes him to roll them over so that she’s straddling him now so that she may better control the kissing.

He sits up, places his hand back behind her head and pulls her closer and Yelena nearly bites him, half from surprise and half just because, when he slips his tongue into her mouth.

She tenses as his other hand tugs at her shirt, almost as though asking permission. Yelena hesitantly leans back and pulls her shirt right over her head and flings it across the room, presumably into the direction of where his shirt had been dropped. She shivers from the cold air hitting her and almost reflexively wraps her arms around herself but instead moves forward to press their mouths back together, hands lightly cupping his face.

She tenses as she feels his hands run up her back. He’s warm and she isn’t sure whether she likes how this feels or not, him touching her. It’s a new experience. An odd one. 

But when his hands trace the small, puckered scars on her back she feels him freeze. 

Yelena isn’t self conscious about her scars, not the ones she had received herself or the ones from her soulmate. They are a part of her, they show how much hard work she had put into devoting her life to her country. To becoming the Black Widow.

She yelps in surprise before she can bite her tongue when he flips them over, pressing her back into the mattress. 

His hands begin to roam over her body, right over her scars. It doesn’t strike her as odd that he seems to know exactly where to let his hands fall to find her scars. 

Yelena clenches the sheets tightly in her fists and snaps out, “What are you doing?”

She didn’t know much, anything really, on what to fully expect in the bedroom but having a random man touch over her scars was surely not what was meant to be happening.

He says nothing, she doesn’t hear his heart racing, and reaches over to flip the switch on the lamp. Yelena flushes as she sees him staring down at her. And shoves his hand away when she feels him tracing the faint scar between her breasts, a gift from her soulmate that she’d had for as long as she could remember.

“It’s you,” he breathes out, shocked and staring at her as if he were seeing the stars for the first time. “You’re mine.”

Yelena scowls, not understanding his sudden change in composure. “I am no one's!”

He ignores this or just doesn’t realize that she hasn’t figured it out like he has. 

‘ _Then again’,_ he thinks _, ‘she hasn’t been touching me.’_

She jerks when he gently takes her wrist and brings her hand to his chest but he doesn’t let her yank away. Tightens his hold and drags her to sit up. Whatever she wanted to yell at him dies before it reaches her tongue as she touches a scar on his chest, right where hers was.

Then he touches one on her right shoulder. Another gift from her soulmate. 

Yelena is willing to bet it’s a deep knife cut that had needed stitches. But when she touches the matching scar on his own shoulder without his prompting she figures she may be able to ask him how he really received the mark.

Her heart begins to race the more her hands travel over his body, feeling and noting every scar he has. They match to the ones on her own body.

Mentally she swears at herself. The slight almost tug she’d been feeling in her heart since meeting him at the bar, the sense of almost peace she’d felt with him, it suddenly clicked.

Her hands move almost on their own, tracing the scars on his body. Then moving to trace over some of the tattoos. A huff of laughter as she traces one that looks like a bear playing an accordion. She thinks it’s almost cute. She likes bears. 

He takes her left hand in his and turns it over to look at the inside of her wrist and for the first time truly feels regret as he stares at the marks he’d given himself years ago. Then pulls her hand up and presses a soft kiss to the scars before breathing out, “So sorry…”

“You’re mine,” Yelena breathes back, eyes wide in surprise. 

Never before would she have thought she’d actually meet her soulmate and let alone in Fabrika of all places.

He just nods and agrees with her. “I’m yours.”

Then holds out his right hand. 

“Vladimir.”

She stares down at his hand for a few moments then up into his eyes and feels as though she is drowning even as she outwardly seems so sure and steadily takes his hand, saying, “I'm Yelena.”


	4. "I'm with you and suddenly my heart screams that I'm home."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Vladimir and Yelena meet again and maybe things are finally going as planned.
> 
> Meanwhile a certain redhead in Budapest on the other hand... yeah her plans are not going as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly this was not how I was expecting this chapter to go at all but it kind of wrote itself so whatever. Oddly enough it kind of set itself up for 'Itsy Bitsy Spider' so... I'm excited. And good lord though I have got to finish 'Louder Than Thunder' because some of the ocs that show up in this have more backstory in that but I haven't gotten to it yet. 
> 
> Also, I'm garbage so sorry not sorry for that bit of carterwood at the end.
> 
> Also also, this is so much longer than I meant for it to be.

**_February, 2003  
_ ** **_Moscow, near Staroprivoskiy Prospekt_ **

Vladimir sits at the bar, once again at Fabrika, and slowly nurses a glass of alcohol. It was easy to tune the rest of the world out. In all honesty he felt like he wasn't even at the sex club. He felt as though he were still sitting on the foot of his bed watching Yelena leave his hotel room, fuming and red faced while his cheek and jaw were stinging from the swift punch she'd given him.

He couldn't even find it in him to be angry with her – the universe had definitely picked someone who could match him well indeed it would seem.

“ _ You'll have to give them so much love, Vovochka,”  _ his mother's words from oh so long ago echo in his mind.  _ “Even if they do not want it.” _

Vladimir scoffs as he takes a sip of his glass and wonders if his mother had known what type of person his soulmate would be.

He can't shake the thought of how lost she had looked, as though she couldn't think properly and were standing at a crossroads, as she stared up at him. He didn't like it. Had wanted to help her. He didn't get a chance to say anything to her though. All opening his mouth had done had earned him a much harder punch to his face than any of her other hits had been. And as she left never once turning back, Vladimir was the one staring and looking lost.

Vladimir is only jerked back to the present when his brother smacks his arm playfully and laughs out, “Vova, Ira was telling me about the girl you took to the hotel last night!”

Vladimir purses his lips but raised an eyebrow at his brother. “Don't you and Ira have anything better to talk about than me?” He asked, annoyed. Typically he didn't mind being the center of conversation. He liked attention and didn't care whether it be positive or negative but right now all he wanted was to be left alone with the thoughts of his soulmate.

He wonders if he’ll see her again. Would fate be so kind as to allow the two of them to cross paths once more? He doubted it. He hadn’t exactly been a good person and didn’t deserve kindness from the universe. The thought of possibly never seeing her again makes him feel as though the world has dropped on him.

If his brother noticed the curtness to his tone, he didn't react to it whatsoever, seemingly used to his brother’s temper. Instead he just shook his head and sat down on the stool to Vladimir's right. “Oh no. Ira and I just had a lovely conversation about how much of an ass you can be.”

He wasn't truly upset with his brother. He just had a small problem with how Vladimir would continuously try and set him up on dates with random women. And really it wasn't even the dates that annoyed him it was the fact that most of these dates were supposed to be one night stands and Anatoly found himself just not liking that aspect of the dates.

As if to agree with his light teasing Ira gave a small giggle, hand over her mouth and appearing a few years younger than she actually was, almost girlish. It made Vladimir roll his eyes while Anatoly winked at her, amused and enjoying his game of aggravating his brother.

“She was pretty. Been here the past few nights,” Irina says in hopes of keeping the elder of the two men interested in talking with her some more. All she does is make Vladimir perk up.

He leans forward, elbows on the countertop and scowl replaced by a curious frown. “She's come here before?”

The sudden interest makes Anatoly stop laughing and slowly he tilted his head, looking between his brother and Irina. It wasn't like Vladimir to actually be interested in other people. Typically Vladimir found most women annoying and preferred the company of men usually. So to hear Vladimir asking about a woman he'd had for one night was surprising to say the least to Anatoly.

“Well, a few times, yes.” Irina gave a shrug, glanced around and only once she was sure that no one was close enough to the bar to hear her over the blaring music did she lean forward and say softly, “She looks a lot like Petra. Or maybe Petra looked a lot like her.”

Vladimir frowned in confusion. “Who the fuck is Petra?”

The young woman shook her head. “Not is. Was. She's dead. Fourth person to die here just this week,” she explained, glancing between the brothers. A soft flush spread across her cheeks as she realized Anatoly was leaning forward just like his brother was. “First was the colonel in intelligence. Shot right in the head,” she pointed to the center of her forehead. “Then two detectives, a man and woman. And then suddenly Petra too.” She shook her head, confused to the chain of murders that had begun taking place at the club. “What goes on downstairs-” Anatoly makes a face, annoyed at being reminded of what goes on in the club, “- it’s supposed to be safe. Consensual. No one  _ actually _ gets hurt.”

“Until suddenly they did?” Anatoly asked softly, eyebrow raised in curiosity.

Irina pursed her lips but nodded, arms crossing over her chest as she agreed with him. “And then suddenly they did.” She shook her head, a few loose strands of hair flying around her head. “Petra had an act,” she said suddenly, leaning forward once more. “She was the Black Widow.”

Vladimir snorts, eyes rolling. “ _ The Black Widow _ ,” he practically sneers out. “Please, Ira. She’s a ghost story just like  _ him _ . The Winter Soldier,” he spits out as though the name personally offended him. “They’re not real.”

Anatoly rubbed his nose and shot a glare to his younger brother. “They are so real,” he huffs.

The blonde just rolls his eyes, doesn’t even spare his brother a glance, as he says tiredly, sounding as though he’d had this very conversation a million times, “They are not. You’re just stupid.”

Anatoly didn’t get a chance to snap back a retort before Irina was speaking up once more, not in the mood for one of their famous sibling bicker matches. 

“I said Petra and the woman you were with last night looked alike, didn’t I, Vova?” 

Vladimir shrugged. “So what?”

“Everyone knows that the Black Widow has red hair.” 

Anatoly pursed his lips, remembering being fifteen and in the woods. “Yes. Red that is darker than blood.”

Irina nodded, turning to look at Anatoly now. “Well Petra and the woman Vova took home, they were both blonde.” At the frowns she received Irina continued speaking. “I overheard the police talking. One of the men, he said the GRU sent the Black Widow to find the killer. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

“Makes you wonder what exactly?” Vladimir asked, following her word for word but still wanting to hear her say it out loud mostly because the whole thing sounded ridiculous to him. Like something straight out of a comic book. 

Irina shrugged nonchalantly. “Makes you wonder if there’s a new Black Widow in Russia.”

As she walks away Vladimir and Anatoly share a look, both not truly believing what they were just told but fascinated all the same. It’s not until they’re waiting for a taxi at their hotel hours later that Vladimir asks suddenly, “Tolik what would you do if you met your soulmate and they ran from you?”

* * *

**_March, 2003  
_ ** **_Glavnoye Razvedyvatelnoye Upravlenie Headquarters -- “The Aquarium” -- outside Moscow_ **

“You called for me General?” Yelena asked, back ramrod straight and making her appear taller and saluting the old man.

He let out a sigh, a puff of smoke escaping his mouth. “At ease, Captain Belova.”

She drops the salute but continues to stand straight.

The old man tosses a file across the desk and gestures for her to take it. And when she does begin to flip through the file, brows furrowing slightly and head tilting, he couldn’t help but to frown in disapproval. Agent Romanova would not have been wearing her thoughts so clearly on her face as Yelena often did. 

But he shoved the thoughts away and instead took a long drag of his cigarette before saying, “I am activating you as Black Widow once more, Captain Belova. The man in those pictures is Igor Mikhailov, a rising politician it would seem.” 

Yelena stared at the pictures once more. The brunette haired man looking around before slipping into cars. Him talking on the phone. Him talking to a few other well dressed men. 

General Tischenko stood from his chair and made his way around the desk. “Mikhailov has been seen with a wanted criminal that we have been trying to bring in.” He points to one picture of Igor slipping into a car with another man in the backseat. “Vasily Sokolov is wanted for drug, human, and weapons trafficking. Murder. And extortion. I have mind to believe that Sokolov is funding Mikhailov and I want to know why and how much he’s giving. I also want to know where Mikhailov is getting the money to pay for Sokolov’s business.”

Yelena gives a curt nod. “Do you wish for me to bring him in, sir?”

“No, not yet. Just find him. Find out what Sokolov wants and how Mikhailov is benefiting from him and where Mikhailov is getting the money to pay Sokolov off. I doubt he’s got the money himself and am willing to bet it’s government money.” He looks annoyed, repeating himself. Sometimes, often, Yelena asked too many questions for his taste. “Then we will arrest Sokolov and Mikhailov both.”

Yelena frowned but gave one final salute before turning on her heel and walking out of the office. 

Once the door was closed he waited a few moments before turning to head back to his seat.  This was just one more test to be sure that Yelena really could handle the weight of being the Black Widow. Sometimes he couldn’t help but have his doubts. Yelena was still young, this was true, but at her age Natalia was doing so much more. Even Dariya had been better. But he couldn’t afford to lose a second Black Widow. Making a new one was a lot of hard work, took much time. Time he didn’t really have.

* * *

**_March 2003  
_ ** **_Moscow, Russia_ **

A parking garage in the middle of the night seems almost ridiculous a place to meet. But Yelena supposes it’s also better to meet in the near open when no one is out than in broad daylight. Men with guns walked around the empty but for their own cars parking garage. There weren’t very many of them, only six, and most looked tired. Or bored. Yelena took her time taking in every detail from her spot in the rafters, hidden in the shadows and being sure not to be seen.

One man leaning against what she knew to be his car, was loading and unloading a handgun just for something to be doing. Two just a few steps to his right that were speaking in hushed whispers too softly for their voices to carry to Yelena, eyes taking in everything around them but for above. One more, sitting on the hood of a car and was staring with unhidden amusement at the remaining two men. One was brunette, the other blonde.

Yelena stiffened as she instantly recognized him. She wondered how she hadn't even noticed the slight tug on her heart as she watched him, Vladimir. She barely payed the brunette that Vladimir was talking so excitedly with any attention, far more focused on her soulmate.

The two of them were talking far too softly, just as the other two had been, but Vladimir moves a lot and talks with his hands. Turns and she can see his face. His expression is completely exasperated, eyes rolling before he turns back to the brunette. In the end they seem more amused with each other than anything else, more or less.

And the brunette, he's, well there's no other way to say it but to call it what it is, he's playing with a knife. Tossing it up and catching it with ease. It was quite clear that he'd been doing this trick for some time. Another easy toss and he flips the knife in the next toss, grinning smugly at Vladimir before they begin speaking in hushed whispers, hands moving. Yelena tenses and every part of her being screams for her to jump down when she sees the brunette's knife  _ just too close  _ to Vladimir for her liking. But he seems more than hyper aware of where he's pointing his knife and makes sure to keep it pointing away from the blonde man.

She nearly slips, jerking slightly, when Vladimir's voice booms out, “Someone tell Tolik that he can't win in a gunfight with a damn knife!”

A few snickers then the man sitting on the hood of the car shrugs nonchalantly.

“Vova is right, Tolya. Bright a knife to a gunfight and you'll lose.”

Vladimir gives the brunette, Anatoly, a smug smirk and crosses his arms. “Told you.”

A laughed out, “I think Tolya may stand a  _ small _ chance,” from one of the men standing near a car. Anatoly lets out a noise, nearly a ' _ ha _ ' as he crosses his arms smugly now. But the other man continues speaking, almost teasing, “But only a small chance.”

Anatoly huffed, Vladimir laughing now, and he made a face at the other man, smirk replaced by a scowl. “Oh go to hell, Syoma.”

A few moments of snickering then the man standing next to Semyon nudges the man's shoulder, almost looking and sounding playful, as he tsks. “Don't humor him. Tolya brings a knife to a gunfight and it'll be the last fight he ever gets to go to!”

Anatoly scowls at him now too and pretends to threaten to throw his knife at him, much to everyone's amusement. “You know what Mitya? You can go to hell too!”

More laughs from all of the men and Yelena rolls her eyes. It's quite clear that the men are fairly close to an extent. They joke as though they're family. Or overgrown children. She isn't sure which. She looks them over once more, can see ink on their hands and ink peeking up from shirts to their collarbones, much like Vladimir had. She wonders what the marks mean, if they mean anything.

As the men continue to laugh and joke with each other she rolls her eyes and nearly sighs in exasperation. Instead she just leans her head against a metal beam and stands still as she listens to them.  _ 'These mafia men are like children,'  _ she thinks to herself.

It hadn't been difficult in the least to find out when Igor was supposed to be meeting with these men. He seemed to like consistency and met with them once every other week at the same time, at the same place. It annoyed Yelena, made it too easy to figure out where to find him.

And just like clockwork Igor shows up. The men fall silent, laughter ceasing immediately as headlights come into view and closer to them. The silence is sudden and Yelena frowns. It had been a quick thing, the joking around, but it had been jovial and made the garage seem less dark in a way.

She and the six mafia men watch as Igor is parks a good bit away from them. He takes his time before he steps out of his car and adjusts his suit jacket as he walks to the seven men. He looks around them in clear distaste. “Where is Vasily?” He asks, voice clear and loud in the sudden quietness of the parking garage.

A scoff from the man who had been leaning against a car, he doesn't stop loading and unloading his gun. “Vasily is otherwise occupied. You'll be dealing with us,” he says.

He sounds as though he's explained this many times, as though he is now speaking to a child. It seems to rile Igor up which appears to be what his goal had been. As Igor bristles in spot, he smirks.

“And who are you exactly? His second?” Igor asks with a sneer, though Yelena can see a flash of panic spread across his face before he can mask it.

General Tischenko had been right; Igor Mikhailov was a rising politician and the young man was becoming quite accustomed to hiding how he truly felt or what he was really thinking.

A breathy laugh from the man who was still sitting on the hood of a car and he leaned back slightly, looking completely relaxed and at home. “No. That would be me.” He raised an eyebrow when Igor turned to look at him. Took his time looking the man up and down, clearly assessing him. “You have our money?”

Igor scoffed. “That depends. Are you going to do what I need you to do or not?”

There's a few soft mutters between the six mafia members but Yelena can't decipher what they're saying. It's clear to tell that Igor can hear them just fine though. And the man on the car, Vasily's second in command, scowled at him.

“Well that depends,” the man says snidely. “Do you have our money or not? Because if not, our business here is done.”

The two men stare at each other and it is clear neither wants to be the first to back down. But slowly Igor nods, giving in.

“Yes, I have your money,” he practically spits out. He scowls when the other man smirks at him. But as he pulls an envelope from his coat pocket and holds it out, it's very clear that this time he isn't the one budging. If the man wants his money, he's going to have to get up and take it from him.

The man on the car seems to realize this just a fraction of a moment after Yelena does and his smirk falls into an annoyed frown. He and Igor go back to glaring at each other and Yelena is willing to bet that the young politician is sweating in nervousness. But she has to admit, he does a great job of hiding his nervousness and it seems to pay off in the end when the mob boss softly scoffs out, “Vova?”

Vladimir makes a show of uncrossing his arms and rolling his eyes but moves to do as told.

Yelena doesn't like it. Her body goes tense and even though her brain is telling her body to stay put and just watch as she's supposed to, her heart is giving its own orders to her body and her whole being screams for her to protect her soulmate even if it's only a defenseless politician not that much older than Vladimir appeared to be that she needs to protect him from.

As it would seem, Yelena isn't the only one uncomfortable with Vladimir being told to go forward. The brunette had long since pocketed his knife and moved quicker than Vladimir was to take the envelope from Igor. He either didn't notice or just flat out ignored how Vladimir glared at him and how the man on the car frowned but otherwise didn't say a word.

Yelena was willing to bet that he didn't care about Vladimir glaring at him or how the man on the car was clicking his tongue in disapproval even as he opened the envelope and quickly counted out the money.

“Very well. I’ll be giving this to Vasily  _ then _ we will handle your little problem.”

This pleases Igor enough to where he nods then gets back into his car and drives away. Everyone waits until his tail lights aren't seen anymore before scoffing and heading to the cars in groups. Yelena can't make out their words but doesn't pay them much mind, too annoyed with her own thoughts. 

She is no closer to finding out where the money is coming from or how Mikhailov is benefiting from the use of the mafia and finds herself frustrated. And this realization annoys her.

A glance back down and she sees only one car left, the one that Vasily’s nameless right hand man had been sitting on. The man had moved from atop the car finally to the car door and was looking at Vladimir and Anatoly, clearly waiting for them. He raised an eyebrow as Vladimir, almost absentmindedly, waved him into the car. A clear ' _ I'll be right there just one second' _ . He seems put off but does as asked and slips into the driver's seat.

Yelena didn't fail to notice as he looked away, giving the two men privacy. And she only just barely hears as Vladimir says softly but clearly, “Don't ever do that again.”

Anatoly runs a hand through his hair, looking to the left avoiding from having to look at the fuming blonde and the car. Yelena has to strain to hear his half spoken, half muttered response of, “I don't-”

“You do know what I'm talking about!” Vladimir interrupted, glaring coldly. “Kirya asked me to get that envelope, not you!”

Something about the way he says 'Kirya' makes Yelena's blood run hot in her veins in a way she'd never really felt. It seems to bother Anatoly as much because he scowls at the blonde and sneers out, “ _ Kirya _ ,” as though the name itself is a vile poison.

Which Vladimir doesn't seem to appreciate. “You have something you want to say?”

Anatoly shrugs but holds his hands up in a clear surrender. “Not a thing, Vova.”

The blonde narrows his eyes at the sarcastic tone but just snaps out, “We've talked about this! You work your way up if you want but don't take  _ my _ jobs!”

“That isn't-” Anatoly starts, sounding as though insulted but he quickly shakes his head, clearly exasperated and worn out. “Whatever,” he mutters. “Let's just go already.” He brushes past the blonde nearly bumping their shoulders together as he goes.

While Anatoly heads to the car, Vladimir continues to stay in spot, looking up at the rafters above. Yelena moves, quiet as a mouse, behind a beam and crouches down so her knees are bent and her back flush against the metal. She'll swear that it's the feel of cool metal and the chill in the air that makes her shiver not that she can feel Vladimir's eyes landing and staying on the spot she'd been standing in just moments before.

“Vova? You coming or do you intend to sleep here tonight?” Anatoly asks.

He still sounds annoyed but there's an undertone of worry to his question. It confuses Yelena, how Anatoly seemed to just be near furious with Vladimir but now was very obviously concerned for him. She didn't understand how he could switch between the feelings so quickly.

A few moments pass before Vladimir turns and walks to the car.

 

* * *

 

**_Several Hours Later, Moscow_ **

Yelena scales the building with practiced ease. It was almost easier than finding where Vladimir lived actually. She frowns as she begins to push his window open.  _ 'How could he not lock his windows?' _ She thought in annoyance as she slips into the bedroom.

She can’t tell if she’s annoyed at herself for being annoyed for his safety or annoyed with him for being so careless.

Vladimir continues sleeping. The bed creaks softly as he rolls over, back now to the window and Yelena, and he tugs his blanket up over his head. Then he's snoring softly once more only to stop once again and groan softly as he moves in his sleep. The blanket slips down to his shoulders now.  More soft creaking as he rolls onto his stomach and one arm moves up to rest on his pillow, the other under it. 

Yelena watches him sleep for a few moments before moving swiftly.

The floorboards don’t even make a sound as she steps silently closer to the bed. The cold drift in the bedroom doesn’t do anything to wake Vladimir, nor her very soft footfalls. What seems to wake him is the clicking of her gun as she turns the safety off.

Vladimir jerks and looks up, more than half asleep and hair a mess, and his eyes widen a fraction as he stares at the gun pointed at his face. Then lets his eyes move from the gun to the person holding it. A look of recognition crosses his face as he stares up into her eyes.

They’re a light hazel-brown color, not that he can see that in the dark he just remembers from meeting her at the bar. 

He squeezes his eyes closed and slowly moves to push himself up and rub the sleep from his eyes. Now that he’s feeling more awake he’s able to focus on the feeling in his chest that screams home. It was that same feeling from the night nearly two full weeks ago when he first met Yelena.

The feeling he’d had in the garage just hours ago. At the time he’d brushed it away, telling himself he just missed her and was being too hopeful. But now he’s glad to know it hadn’t been in his head, surely if she was here in his bedroom then she must have been nearby earlier too.

Vladimir opens his mouth, prepared to ask her what she was doing in his bedroom or how she’d even gotten in when she interrupts him.

“I have questions for you.”

He raises an eyebrow and slowly moves, freezes when she moves her finger a fraction close to the trigger. “Ask away, dear heart.” The term of endearment slips easily, far too easily for Yelena’s comfort. 

It makes her think of her parents even though her father had never been very showing with his emotions to her mother. She’d often wondered how her mother could even stand her father. But she pushes the thoughts away; she had a job to do and that was finding out about the business going on between Igor and Vasily, not getting to know Vladimir no matter how much her whole being said to do just that.

“Vasily. Where is he?”

Vladimir raises an eyebrow. Of all the things he had been expecting from her, that had been at the very bottom of his list.

“Why do you care about Vasily?” He asked, surprised and not even doing anything to hide it.

Yelena narrows her eyes at him. “He is a wanted criminal,” she says simply as though that's the only answer she needs to give and that he’s lucky she’s even giving him one to begin with. 

Vladimir just tilted his head and slowly turned to sit up properly but he made no move to get out of the bed just yet. “So am I,” he says as though talking about the weather. It's just a fact. The blankets are shoved away, slowly so that she doesn't think he's about to make any sudden moves. He gestures to his body, the few tattoos on his chest and arms to the words painting his feet. 

Yelena glances down against her will and takes in the sight of the tattoos. The skull wearing a crown on his right hand is a slightly faded blue in color and he holds his hand up when he catches her looking at it.

“What? You know what it means?”

She purses her lips and glares at him, doesn't want to admit that of course she doesn't. But if Vladimir is disappointed he does a remarkable job of hiding it. It surprises her that instead, he actually looks almost pleased that she doesn't know. He stretches his arms up and she makes a face of disgust at the nearly naked woman on his arm and he lets out a yawn. The bear makes her almost smile. Almost. A flash of curiosity as she sees a candlestick on his ribs and she wants to know what some of these marks mean.

Instead she holds her gun steady and says, “Tell me what Igor Mikhailov and Vasily Sokolov are doing.”

He doesn't tell her what she wants to know. Just breathes out a laugh of, “And what makes you think that  _ I _ know?”

A moment of silence as she thinks this over. He doesn't seem like he's lying which just disappoints her. She'd really been hoping that he would tell her the answers she needed. But he takes her silence as more than just disappointment and slowly reaches out to her gun and taps it.

“Get this out of my face and ask me your questions, Lenochka.” he says, waving his hand in hopes that she'll do as asked.

She scowls but clicks the safety back on and slips it back into it’s holster on her leg. “ _ Don’t _ call me that. Where is Vasily?”

“I can't tell you that.”

If he hadn't looked so torn, as if he really truly wanted to tell her, she would have thought he was just lying.

“Then what can you tell me?” She asks, annoyed.

He stands from the bed and tries to ignore the flash of hurt that courses through him as she takes two steps back, grabbing her gun and holding it back up just a few centimeters, a very clear warning if ever there was one. Vladimir stops just a few steps away from her. 

“We do a lot of the dirty work for Igor since he can’t very well go about doing it. Currently he wants to foreclose a certain apartment complex.”

“Why?”

Vladimir shrugged, arms crossing. “No clue. I wasn't lying about not knowing what he and Vasily have going on between them, whatever deals that may be.” A pause and he looks away, lost in thought for a moment.

He wanted to tell Yelena everything he knew, which realistically wasn't all that much. Kirill told him more than anyone else, and Vladimir was very aware of this. But while his brain and common sense were telling him to not say anything about the bratva's business, his heart and very being were screaming at him to tell Yelena everything she wanted to know, to make her happy. He drums his fingers against his arm as he makes his choice.

“What I do know is that he has been embezzling government money, pays Vasily with it.”

‘ _ Knew it, _ ’ Yelena thinks to herself.

“And we have been helping him with his problem of clearing out the apartment complex. It's shit anyway honestly, but of course everyone living there wants to stay there. Not a problem really, that just means we get sent in. So a few women go missing,” he held up his index finger, “houses get broken into,” another finger is held up, “and we rough some people up. Suddenly everyone agrees that the place isn't safe.”

She says nothing but Vladimir can tell that she's taking all of this in. Both are surprised when he blurts out, “Maybe we should work for you.”

He doesn't know why he says it really. Has no way of completely influencing Vasily. But he knows that he'll try and so doesn't regret saying it.

Yelena raises an eyebrow. “Why would we want you working for us? You have nothing that you could offer us.”

“What about weapons? Your people could always use weapons, right?” She says nothing, just purses her lips and Vladimir takes this as a chance to shove ahead. “You are the Black Widow, aren't you?”

She stands straighter, very obviously proud of this, but just gives a small curt nod.

Vladimir huffs out a laugh, almost exasperated only because if Yelena is the Black Widow then that means he has to tell Anatoly that he was right all along about the Black Widow and the Winter Soldier being real. He cocks his head to the side as he stares at her. She makes a face at his scrutiny and tries to ignore the way he's looking at her.

“Tolik says you had red hair. Always assumed that was why they called you the Red Death,” he said.

Now Yelena scowls at him, her awkwardness now being replaced by pure annoyance. “I'm the other Black Widow.”

“Other one?” He parrots back, eyebrow raised in curiosity.

“The  _ better _ one,” she amends quickly.

Natalia Romanova had always been what Yelena aspired to be like. But she wanted more, wanted to be better. Her own scores only came second to Natalia's but not for much longer, Yelena was sure of herself that she could do better. But Vladimir doesn't know any of this and just makes a soft ' _ ahh _ ' noise in thought.

Then he's bringing back the previous conversation.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“We can help supply your people with weapons. Vasily doesn't care who he sells to so long as he is getting his money.” Hesitantly he reaches out and takes Yelena's left hand in his and trails his thumb over her gloved knuckles. “I would rather work with you than against you,” Vladimir whispers, staring at her face.

When she turns her attention to him rather than their hands he's pleased to see that she looks to be considering this, considering him.

“You want me too,” he breathes out, unable to stop himself from grinning.

“No,” slips from her lips easily but both know it's a lie.

And Vladimir calls her on it. “You do. I  _ know _ you do. Why else would you find me?”

Yelena pulls her hand from his. “Because I knew that you'd give the information up easily.”

An almost sad, self deprecating, smile replaces his grin as he takes a step back. “How could I not when it's you, Lenosha?” She flushes at the name but he continues speaking, not noticing her embarrassment in the dark. “What do you want from me? Money? I can get you and your people that. Weapons? You just say the word and I'll do everything in my power to get them for you.”

The unspoken  _ give me a reason to need you _ goes unsaid but after a few silent moments a look of understanding flicks across his face.

“You want information on just Vasily?”

A curt nod from her is the only answer he receives.

Vladimir runs a hand over his face, lets out a noise that she can only think to describe as a whine, and pinches the bridge of his nose before sighing and saying a rush, “Vasily is out of the country.”

“What? Why?”

“He's in Rhapastan meeting with some men about a possible future deal.”

Yelena scowls as she tries to think. “Why?” She repeats annoyed. “What is in Rhapastan that he could possibly want?”

Vladimir crosses his arms over his chest once more. “Weapons. You do know that he smuggles in an out of the country, right? It’s good profit. And easy when you know how to do it.”

“Of course I am aware he’s smuggling weapons! And he can't get those from anywhere else? They have to be from Rhapastan?” She asks, now just aggravated because she felt as though not enough details are being shared with her.

Vladimir shrugs, seemingly not picking up on her annoyance, as he continues to act completely nonchalant. “I don't know all of the details. Didn't really care or have a reason to. But...” he bites his tongue for just a moment. “Supposedly there is a new chemical weapon in the works. Vasily thinks that he can make a deal with a gang in Rhapastan, set up a smuggling route you know? And he thinks that if he can get access to some of this chemical weapon then he can sell it for an even better price.”

“So this is all about money to him?”

Vladimir makes a face. “Yes?” Is his simple answer; he'd made this quite clear after all. “I have been saying that, haven't I? I am speaking Russian, right?”

Yelena scowls at him but says nothing as he sasses her.

“Vasily does not care where he gets the money from so long as he's getting it. So if your people agree to buy the goods, keep our supply chains safe, we in return can supply you with this chemical weapon. And if you don’t want that, then we can supply you with the information on not just that weapon but any around the world. Vasily’s connections reach very far. Then, this is a win win for us both. You and I can see each other-”

“I do not care about seeing you!” Yelena interrupts, nearly hissing at him. She's telling this more to convince herself than him and he seems to realize it just as much as she does.

“- and your people would know exactly where Vasily is at all times.”

“Or,” she held her gun up, “you tell me when he's going to be back and where he lives so that we can take him in.”

Vladimir laughs, a scoff more than anything really. “Please. You can't arrest him because you can't prove anything. He has many personalities and aliases. He's arrested and a few days later he's escaped again because he has influence everywhere. At least if a deal is made, he'll work with you. Which in turn means that I will be able to work with you.”

It doesn't annoy Yelena as much as it probably should to realize that he's not wrong. She does want to see him again. And she hates how conflicted this makes her feel. She's never doubted her own loyalty to the Red Room before. But she nods.

“Fine. Let's talk.”

Vladimir beams at her and looks ready to jump in spot. “Wonderful. Let me get a snack. Would you like anything to eat?” He asks, looking at her stomach pointedly. She shakes her head. “Drink?”

Another no and then she sighs out, “I don't eat or drink on the job. Get yourself something if you absolutely must.”

Vladimir frowns but moves to the door. “I'll be right back. You stay in here so the dogs don't start barking and wake up my brother.”

He leaves and only just barely hears her surprised mutter of, “Dogs?”

The door shuts and he doesn’t hear her other mutter of, “Brother?”

* * *

**_March, 2003  
_ ** **_Budapest, Hungary_ **

“If you take the gun, I drop the grenade,” the red haired woman began, speaking slowly as if she were talking to a child. “But... if you take the grenade... well, you know what happens,” she finished, a smirk dancing across her lips as she holds her gun up, aimed right at his head. “So, Agent Barton, which are you going to take from me?”

Clint stared at her, Natalia Romanova. It'd been his mission to hunt her down and kill her. The Slavic Shadow. The Red Death. The Black Widow. There were so many names for her.

For over a week Clint had been tailing her and been tailed right back. Natalia Romanova looked different now, standing right before him, looking more dead than alive. There was no light in her eyes she just stared blankly at him and her was a deathly shade of pale. Just two days ago Clint had been watching her through the scope on a gun, telling himself to pull that trigger while he had the chance. But something had been stopping him. And not just that time either but every moment he had the opportunity he just couldn’t do it.

It’d become a game almost for them both. How many times could they nearly run into each other. How many times could they miss a shot. How many times could they make eye contact in a crowd only to give a self confident smirk and disappear for several hours once more. And how many times could they wind up in a hotel room, pressed together and feeling so right in those few moments.

Clint had woken up just a few days ago with his gun loaded with the safety off and lying on the pillow where she had been resting her head. It was clear she had thought about shooting him and hadn’t.

But now they were in a cheap hotel room, weapons drawn, and though she may not have looked much better the past week as she did now. at least then she had looked more alive. Now Clint worried for a moment if he was possibly fighting a zombie. 

And Clint isn’t even worried about getting shot, could care less if he got blown to bits right then, but he worries for her and the civilians in the surrounding area. But he’s much more worried about her and isn’t afraid to admit that.

He’ll later be called stupid and reckless but he won’t care then just as he doesn’t now. 

“Well, Agent Barton?”

He stares her straight in the eyes and wonders if he can save her. He wants to. He has nothing to lose he figures so he wets his lips and then makes a choice.

“What if I take  _ you _ ?” 

And Natalia laughs, a scoff and an eyeroll follow, and then she’s saying, “I’m not going to some prison. That is what you have in mind, isn’t it? Because we’re not both making it out of this country alive unless that’s the case.”

Clint shakes his head, arms still held up in surrender and a gun in each hand. They’re both aware that he is more than able to fight back against her and so this act of surrendering was just for show n a way. “I don’t mean to prison. I’m here to kill you.”

“I know. And I won’t let you.”

“You want to live?” Clint asked, giving her a look as he already knows the answer. “I imagine that you do. Well, so do I. I want to take you with me. Come back with me. Come to S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Natalia raises an eyebrow. “That is not happening, Agent.”

Clint shakes his head and stares right back at her, nearly pleading with his eyes for her to trust him. “Come with me. Leave the Red Room. You won’t  _ ever  _ have to work for them again. You’ll be safe.”

Natalia’s grip on her gun tightens as she runs this over in her mind. To never have to return to the Red Room sounds just too good to be true. 

It feels like an eternity passes before she hesitantly lowers her gun, knuckles white from how hard she’s gripping it.

“I’m listening.”

* * *

**_March, 2003  
_ ** **_Budapest, Hungary_ **

Clint doesn't take Natalia back to the United States right away and she almost wonders if perhaps he is giving her the time to change her mind and go back Russia.

Clint isn't discreet about his mission to take her out when he brings her to his hotel room. And he does nothing to stop her as she begins to flip through the thick file S.H.I.E.L.D. has on her. The night he takes her from her hotel room to his, her blood runs cold in her veins as she sees pictures of her that she didn't know were taken of her doing past jobs and reads over reports that describe in detail her missions. Missions that were hidden by a fog in her brain that no matter how hard she tries, she just can't remember them.

Later that night he insists that she take the bed, frowns in concern as she monotonously says, “I can sleep on the floor. I've slept in much worse places.”

So she's curled up in the center of the bed, hair damp from a rushed cold shower, and hand wrapped securely around her gun that she has hidden under her pillow, watching him as he paces around the room.

“I don't care what my mission is, Director. I'm making a different call, sir,” Clint snaps out, sounding exhausted. A pause as she supposes he's being yelled at but Clint just rolls his eyes and says exasperatedly, “Oh no! Losing signal! Ksh! Have to go! Ksh!” Then tosses his phone down on the desk.   
It's almost as big a surprise to him as it is to her when she doesn't run or kill him. And it's a surprise to her when she wakes up three 

days in a row. Finally their last night in Hungary arrives and he wants to celebrate the fact that they’re leaving Budapest the next morning together and alive. He takes her out to a fancy restaurant and this feels different to Natalia. 

Clint is in a suit, she in a dress that she was meant to wear at a gala where she was to assassinate the Hungarian prime minister.

“Well,” Clint begins after they’ve ordered their meals, “tomorrow morning we leave Europe. You ready, Ms. Romanova?”

Natalia lets out a breathy scoff-laugh. “This is not the first time I’ll have left this continent, Agent Barton.”

“Clint,” he corrects automatically. When she says nothing, just raises an eyebrow, he shrugs. “Maybe not, but this time it’s not for a mission. You’re going to be safe. I promise.”

Natalia frowns. “You can’t promise something like that.”

“But I did. And I mean it, Natalia.”

They look each other in the eyes, both refusing to break contact even as their food is set in front of them. And slowly Natalia picks up her wine glass and tilts it slightly in his direction.

“I owe you my life then, Agent Barton.”

Clint laughs and corrects her once more. “Clint, Natalia. Just Clint.”

And Natalia can’t help but smile. Then nods. “Natasha.” And when he stares at her blankly she repeats herself. “My name. Call me Natasha.” 

“Alright. Natasha.”

The woman nearly bites her lip but refrains from doing so, even if only just barely. She isn’t sure whether Clint is aware of what he’s done for her. The only people to ever have called her Natasha were Ivan, Dariya from the Red Room, and Yakov. People she trusted and cared for and who cared for her. To an extent.

She feels like she’s starting over and she isn’t truly sure how she feels about this.

But she thinks she may like it.

 

* * *

 

**_March, 2003  
_ ** **_New York City, New York, United States of America_ **

Upon entering the S.H.I.E.L.D. base Clint takes Natasha’s hand in his and ignores the looks from the other agents but groans when a firm voice yells out, “Barton! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Natalia itches to pull the knife she has hidden in her boot and fall into a fighting stance but stops herself in favor of watching as Clint slowly turns on his heel and gives a lazy salute. “I was taking Agent Romanova here to my room before heading for a debriefing, Coulson.”

The man rolls his eyes and doesn’t even spare Natalia a glance. It’s clear that he’s used to Clint doing whatever he wants and it’s clear that he’s already exhausted with him. “Director Fury is not pleased with you. At all.”

Clint just makes a face and shrugs. “When is Fury ever happy with me?”

And the man, Coulson, just pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs out, “Clinton Barton one day you are going to be fired. Or sent to prison.”

Once more Clint just shrugs. “I’m taking Natasha to my room so she can rest. Then you and Fury and I’m sure Agent Carter can all yell at me. Okay?” He doesn’t wait for a response, just turns and walks away with the ex-KGB assassin.

* * *

**_Several Hours Later_ **

Natalia can feel someone staring at her and the feeling makes her tense ever so slightly under the blankets. Her hand wraps around the pistol under her pillow and she whips it out only for it to be smacked away and her back to be pressed into the mattress, an arm firmly being pressed to her throat and a body pressed to hers.. It isn’t enough to fully cut off her air supply, just enough to surprise her.

And what else surprises her is that she’s staring up at the grinning face of a woman, not Clint, and it’s a woman she knows very well.

_ “Oh, god, what are you doing here?”  _ Natalia groans out in Russian, no longer tense and nearly falling flat.

Dariya, no, she went by Dorothy now, stares down at her with the biggest grin on her lips.  _ “Oh I’ve missed you so much, Natalka!” _

_ “Funny. I haven’t missed you at all,”  _ Natalia snaps back tiredly. It isn’t the truth but it’s not a full lie either.

And the woman with hair dyed a dark raven color grins even more if that were possible as she realizes this.  _ “Liar,” _ she coos out.  _ “Now what are you doing in S.H.I.E.L.D. anyway? Last I heard you were still the Red Room’s precious little darling.”  _

Natalia sneers up at her.  _ “When you say it like that you make it sound like I’m no better than Anya.” _

Now Dorothy lets out a giggle, rolling her eyes amusedly, and leans down so that she and Natalia are only a breath apart.  _ “No, no, no, Natalka. You and I, we were world’s better than the precious little recluse was.” _

Natalia shrugs. Or she tries to at the very least. This position of Dorothy lying on top of her, nearly choking her, it’s not a new position in any form. They had fought each other, trained together, in the Red Room and once they were no longer twenty-eight little girls only fifteen young teenagers Dorothy had often snuck into Natalia’s bed at night. 

_ “Now, what are you doing at S.H.I.E.L.D.?”  _ Dorothy repeats, voice holding a tone of warning now more than her previous teasing.

_ “I’m not here to upturn your life if that’s what you’re wondering,”  _ Natalia drawls out, bored and annoyed now.  _ “I didn’t even know you were still with S.H.I.E.L.D.”  _ A pause and Dorothy drums her fingers against Natalia’s shoulder, clearly not believing the redhead’s lie.

It almost makes Natalia laugh; Dorothy never really was able to stand still, she liked to be moving. It had earned her many punishments in the Red Room but none did a thing to curb her annoying tendencies.

So Natalia continues speaking quietly. _ “I suppose I should have known you were still here though. Is Agent Carter still Director or is it someone else now? _

Dorothy presses her arm even more against Natalia’s throat, grinning wickedly when Natalia gasps softly, trying to take a gulp of air.  _ “Is that why you’re here? For Peggy?” _

Natalia says nothing, more to annoy the woman on top of her than out of being unable to speak and Dorothy scowls at her as she understands the redhead raises an eyebrow at her the silent question of,  _ ‘she’s yours isn’t she?’ _ being understood immediately. 

_ “You touch one hair on Peggy’s little head and I will kill you quicker than you can even so much as think the word ‘vodka’, Natalka. Understand?”   _

She loosens her hold on Natalia enough for the smaller woman to spit out,  _ “Get off of me already, Dasha.” _

A grin replaces the scowl on Dorothy’s face at the old childhood nickname that hadn’t been used since before 1945. “Oh, Natalka dear, call me Dottie,” she corrects, switching to English.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Either next chapter or the chapter after I swear that Matt is finally going to make an appearance.


	5. "God, I hope this lasts because I'm falling so fast for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a few things:  
> \- This goes relatively quickly since it's a year of Vladimir and Yelena's relationship growing and then three quick bits of Utkin. I'm not going too in depth with Utkin because quite frankly I'm saving that for Louder Than Thunder and I don't think it's too important for this fic yet. There will be flashbacks/nightmares/what have you to Utkin later on.  
> \- Vladimir is a huge back of dicks. Like he's a dirt bag before Utkin and then afterwards it's just worse. He does try to force Yelena into sleeping with him, so slight trigger warning for that. Then for the snippets in Utkin they're conjugal visits. Sorta. So that was fun.  
> \- Matt finally makes an appearance at the end! Yay!

**_April, 2003_ ** **_  
_ ** **_Glavnoye Razvedyvatelnoye Upravlenie Headquarters -- “The Aquarium” -- outside Moscow_ **

“ _ Natalia has betrayed us.” _

The words won't stop echoing loudly in Yelena's mind even after weeks of being told the news. General Tischenko had not been pleased as he said this to her. And Yelena couldn't blame him. Natalia had been her idol. She had looked up to the other woman so much from her very first day of entering the Black Widow program.

Natalia's scores had been unbeatable. 

And so Yelena had pushed herself nearly to the breaking point in order to match then excel past all of Natalia's scores. She wanted to be the best, to bring the former glory of Russia back and to make her parents proud. She herself had been proud every time she beat a score, felt as though she were one step closer to being like Natalia, to possibly even working with the other woman.

But now all of that had changed.

Natalia was no longer Russia's greatest asset.

She had switched sides.

And Yelena was disgusted with her lack of loyalty and agreed with General Tischenko. Natalia was now a problem and enemy and would be dealt with as such. She was no longer Russian as far as Yelena was concerned.

Yelena set a new set of goals for herself the moment she heard the news. She would be better. She would be the one to take Natalia Romanova out, defeat the traitor she had once naïvely admired.

And this is how Lika finds Yelena. Sweating and breathless but still pushing herself onward in the training room with two other men.

Yelena, well, she aches. It's a painful ache but she continues to push herself until she feels as though she may break. No, not just break, but completely shatter under the pressure she's giving herself. But she won't snap in half. She'll bend and come back stronger. Because she's the Black Widow. The only one. She will be the best until she's all that's left. At least, this is what she tells herself like a mantra. 

So she continues pushing herself.

And if training has made her miss a few meetings with Vladimir... well, that's just the price that she has to pay. She'd said it before when she was but nine years old, her duty to her country would come before her personal wants and if her soulmate could not accept that then so be it. She would have no use for them.

Yelena doesn't falter in her stances even when Lika's voice calls out from the gym's entrance. “Come on, Lena. It's getting late and you've been in here all day long.”

The blonde just grunts in answer and continues sparring with the two men. She dodges a fist coming at her face, grabs his wrist and gives it a harsh twist, ignoring his groan of pain. A well aimed kick has the man yelling and falling to the padded floor, a hand coming up to rub at his soon to be swollen jaw.

“I'm not finished yet Lika.” Yelena says, not distracted in the least by her friend and quickly swiping the legs out from under the other man before landing a hard punch to the center of his chest that leaves him groaning and gasping for breath.

The two men lay on their backs, breathless and sore, and don't make any moves to get back up when Yelena just glares at them. Lika hadn't been exaggerating, Yelena had been using them as her own personal punching bags for nearly the whole day. In a way this wasn't new. Yelena had always trained harder than any of the other girls in her class had. Obviously, since she was the one who proudly wore the title of Black Widow. And since Pyotr's death she'd taken to using other soldiers as a means of taking out her frustration and grief.

“Get up. Again,” she says sounding bored and delivering a swift, light kick to one of the men's shoulder.

He grunts and waves her off. “We're done. We've been at this for hours and every time you win. Listen to your friend?” He pleads.

Yelena places her hands on her hips as she scowls down at him, glare cold enough to make Yakutsk seem tropical.

Everyone looks at Yelena, waiting for her response with bated breath. Lika nearly sighs in relief when Yelena rolls her eyes and snaps out, “Fine!” Then follows Lika out of the training room.

Lika takes this as her chance to half-jokingly say, “Time for you to hit the showers. You stink, Lena.”

Yelena freezes and slowly raises her arm to subtly sniff herself. She makes a face, flushes lightly, as she realizes that her friend is correct. A quick shower is most definitely in order. She's surprised when she comes out of the showers and sees Lika leaning against the wall waiting for her.

The brunette gives a small smile, head tilted in something akin to amusement. “You didn't meet with the vor v zakone tonight. Again.”

It isn't a lie. Yelena had skipped the past four meetings with the mafia members in favor of training and she sees no problem with that even if her heart tugs in her chest and tells her to go to Vladimir. He's her personal little secret that she has yet to tell anyone else of, even Lika. Vladimir is a distraction, she knows this, but she can't help but want him nonetheless. 

Yelena purses her lips as she uses the towel to dry her hair. But she says nothing for a few moments, not fully sure what to say but finally settles with saying slowly, “I sent someone else to meet with them in my place. General Tischenko will still receive information on the smuggling routes and production of the bio-weapon.”

Lika frowns at her friend's tone more than the words. “Lena this was your idea. What would even possess you to agree to any deals with those men?”

Yelena slowly rubs at her left wrist, right hand covering the faint scars, as she stares down at the tiled floor absentmindedly.

Lika notices and were eyes widen in surprise before she can school her features. She of course knew that Yelena's soulmate had given her those scars and she couldn't help but wonder if maybe by some miracle, or some cheap form of entertainment, the universe had allowed Yelena to meet her soulmate. A soulmate who was possibly, more than likely, in the mafia.

It was no secret that General Tischenko didn't believe Yelena was smart enough to come up with this deal between the GRU and the mafia all on her own. Everyone but Yelena seemed to know that the General didn't have much faith in her. So when Yelena had told him of 'her idea' of working with the mafia for information on not just Vasily's whereabouts but for weapons and information on almost anything, the old man had instantly been suspicious. And if Yelena rubbing at her soulmate's scars was any indication, Lika was almost sure that she'd just found out what had possessed Yelena to work with the vor v zakone.

She says nothing, just raises an eyebrow when Yelena says, gripping her towel tighter in her left hand, “I'll be back later, Lika.”

* * *

**_Several Hours Later, Moscow_**  

Taxis were not Yelena’s favorite form of transportation in the least. They took too long typically and that night the driver talked far too much and never seemed to grasp the fact that Yelena did not want to talk to him.

Upon arriving to Vladimir's apartment building she makes sure to go through the building rather than his bedroom window as he'd asked her weeks ago. She’s in civilian clothes, jeans and a shirt with a coat to keep the bitter chill from touching her much, so that she doesn’t draw any unnecessary attention to herself.

“ _ Just knock on my door like a normal sane person and I'll let you in. There's no reason to come through the window, Lenosha,” _ he'd said with a frown. Even though he hadn't voiced his concern about her scaling the building it was quite clear that he didn't want to risk any harm coming to her. It would have been cute had it not been so insulting at the same time.

So now she stood with her fist raised and poised to knock on the wooden door. She waited a handful of moments after knocking but no one came to the door. She knocked again but no answer. It was well past midnight and so was possible that Vladimir was sleeping. Though, he had mentioned he had two dogs that typically slept in the living room and barked anytime someone was at the door.

She waits a few moments before giving one final knock but when no one comes to the door, she glances side to side to be sure that no one is watching her, then kicks the door right open, nearly busting it off its hinges. Not that she cares any. Perhaps, she supposes as she looks at the door, maybe Vladimir wouldn't be too pleased with a broken door.

She enters the apartment, door clicking shut behind her, and flicks the light switch. The light is dull but does the job of illuminating the living room and casting a warm light into half of the small kitchen. Now that she's able to explore Vladimir's apartment she takes advantage of it.

A worn couch sat in the center of the living room a good few steps away from a small t.v. Two dog bowls, one empty and the other half full of water, sat near the kitchen table that had only two chairs. Presumably one chair for Vladimir and the other for his brother. A blanket sits folded up on one end of the couch with a pillow on top of it. She assumes that this is where Vladimir's brother sleeps as the apartment has only a single bedroom and she has the overwhelming urge to ask Vladimir more about his personal life.

An urge that she quickly smothers and shoves into the back of her mind.

The apartment is dull, boring in appearance. There were no pictures hanging on the walls and even when she thought back to Vladimir's bedroom there hadn't been any pictures. The whole place was bare but for the necessities. Nothing in the apartment made it seem personal.

It reminded her of her small bedroom back at headquarters.

But even her bedroom had more personality than this apartment. She at least had the one picture of her as a child at eight years old standing between her parents.

She moves from the living room to the kitchen and begins to open and close the cabinets, peeking in and growing bored with what little sits in them. Dishes mostly. A few snacks in the bottom of one. The silverware in the drawer next to the sink. She's going through the fridge's contents when the door opens suddenly, startling her much to her annoyance, and two dogs begin growling and barking.

“Snezhinka! Down! Bad girl!” Vladimir snaps out, grabbing one of the large dogs by her collar and trying his best to yank her back from going any closer to Yelena. “Zvezdochka! Come here! Leave Lenosha alone!”

Yelena backs away, eyes narrowed and lower back pressing into the counter, as the two dogs continue to bark at her. A glance up and she sees the same brunette from the parking garage, Anatoly, reaching forward to hold back the other dog, Zvezdochka. The dogs’ names make Yelena raise an eyebrow in dry amusement at her soulmate.

It takes a few more minutes of Vladimir and Anatoly trying to get the dogs to stop leaping at Yelena before they’re finally still, just growling and snapping occasionally at her direction. It’s annoying to her and she makes a face at the two large dogs, lets out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a hiss, but doesn’t move any closer to Vladimir like how her whole being is commanding. 

Vladimir makes a face at her, eyebrow raised and head tilted, and reaches up to pet Snezhinka, a white with golden brown spots borzoi, on the head right between her ears. “Are you  _ hissing _ ?” He asks, clearly trying to bite back a laugh. “What are you, Lenosha? A snake?”

But Yelena doesn’t get a chance to respond as Anatoly snorts. 

“I think more along the lines of a rabid alley cat comes to mind than a snake. Vova, who is this woman?” He asks, looking her up and down and not too impressed with what he sees. 

The woman is slim, that much he can tell even if she is hidden by her coat, and her hair is short and curly. She’s plain. And young, maybe not much younger than his brother but he can tell that she is clearly younger. An air of brattiness rolls off of her much like the one that hovers around Vladimir most days. 

But a glance over to his brother and Anatoly’s eyes widen if only a fraction. Vladimir looks as though he’s seeing the stars for the first time with the way his eyes are glued on the young woman and Anatoly instantly remember’s Vladimir’s question from weeks ago.

_ “Tolik, what would you do if you met your soulmate and they ran from you?” _

It’s not too difficult for Anatoly to piece together that this woman is clearly the soulmate that had run from his brother.

Finally, Vladimir manages to tear his eyes from Yelena to give his brother a sheepish grin and an offer of, “This is not how I wanted for you two to meet but Tolik, this is Yelena. Lenosha, my brother, Anatoly.”

He looks between the two, hoping that they’ll get along decently enough. He doubts it since even though he had only had a few hours total with Yelena he could already tell that she was not a people person. And Anatoly, well, he didn’t trust very easily at all. Not a bad thing considering their line of work and all. It just meant that the outcome of his brother and soulmate getting along was not in his favor in the least.

He frowns in mild disappointment but no surprise when Yelena just narrows her eyes at Anatoly, mild distaste hovering around her like a storm cloud.

“I remember.”

“Remember? We haven't met,” Anatoly says, eyebrow raised and looking at his brother in curiosity.

Yelena shrugs nonchalantly. “You were playing with the knife and almost cut him,” she says simply, tilting her head slightly in Vladimir's direction.

Even though she knows Vladimir had never been in danger, she couldn't help the annoyance she still felt at the memory of a knife being near him. The worry she feels annoys her greatly. She doesn’t like this feeling, like she has a weakness of sorts.

Vladimir on the other hand wasn't amused. “Please. I wasn't in danger, Lenosha.” He turns to look at his brother, still petting his dog growling dog. “She was in the garage that last night we met with Igor.”

Anatoly raised an eyebrow after a moment’s pause. “Where? I didn't see her.”

Yelena nearly preens at this, taking it as a compliment of sorts that she's able to hide herself as well as she seems to have at the time. And Vladimir notices how proud she looks and feels a twinge of happiness in his heart for her. He rather likes her looking happy. It's a new feeling in a way. He's never cared enough about another person, not like this.

Sure, he cared about Anatoly. How could Vladimir not when Anatoly was not only his brother but the only family he had left? But even with this in mind Vladimir still feels hurt, a slight betrayed almost, when he thinks back to being nine and being left behind at an orphanage in Moscow while his brother walked away. So he shoves the thoughts away, to the back of his mind where they belong.

And Kirill, well Vladimir cared about him in a different way than he cared for his brother but it wasn't like what he felt for Yelena though it was definitely close.

“She was in the rafters,” Vladimir explained.

“What? Why?” Anatoly asked, brows furrowed and eyes narrowing as he makes a face at his brother. A glance back to the woman and Anatoly shakes his head. “Who is this girl and why the fuck has she broken into our house?”

“She’s the Black Widow and my soulmate,” Vladimir says, looking Yelena in the eyes. He offers a small smile, an upturn of the lips, and bubbles with happiness when her cheeks turn a light pink. “She’s… also the reason why we are working with the GRU rather than Igor now,” he says in a rush. 

At the look of confusion painting his brother’s face Vladimir gives a rundown version of his and Yelena’s talk. How convincing Kirill had been easy, it nearly always was, and with Vasily still in Rhapastan that left Kirill in charge of business decisions. And he’d agreed that they could make more money working fully with the government rather than just one person with their own agenda. 

Yelena stayed silent, not offering her own version, why she’d agreed to this in the first place or how she’d been able to convince her superiors.

By the end of it though Anatoly is shaking his head in exasperation. Then scowls as Yelena opens the fridge and begins moving things around.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for food. I want something to eat,” she answered back, tone bored and clearly stating that she didn’t have to give him an answer if she didn’t want to. That she was doing it just to be civil. 

“And you can’t ask? Like a normal person?” 

Anatoly ignored as Vladimir shot a small glare at him, not pleased with his rudeness.  

It takes only a handful of seconds before Vladimir is turning his attention back on Yelena. He frowns as he watches her lift a container of food and smell it before she placed it onto the counter, not even bothering to fix the lid back on it 

Leftover stroganoff was not something she was in the mood for.

“Why don’t I cook you something?” Vladimir offers quickly as he sees her repeating the process.

Yelena slowly stood back up, container of some sort of soup in hand, and looked at him. “You… can cook?” 

It’s not asked snidely or even in surprise, she just asks because it’s not something she would have really thought about. Anyone being able to cook, that’s just so domestic and normal to her. She almost has a hard time wrapping her head around the thought because the simple revelation of knowing just this one thing about Vladimir makes her wonder how he learned to cook. Why did he learn to cook and who taught him or did he teach himself.

 Again, she finds herself wanting to know more about him.

 “Of course I can cook,” Vladimir said, slowly standing and giving Snezhinka a few pats on the head before taking a step towards the kitchen. “Ah! No! Bad girl!” He snapped when the dog tried to run past him.

Yelena took a step back, her lower back pressing into the wood of the counter once more, as the large dog growls at her. She doesn't like dogs. Doesn't like animals in general really. Perhaps because they didn't seem to like her all that much. They could sense she was uncomfortable around them. But either way, she isn't too pleased with the dogs.

Vladimir was hyper aware of Yelena's unease, practically felt it in his chest, and snapped his fingers to get the dog's attention.

“Sit,” he said sternly, pointing down. He made a face when the dog growled, almost as though she were back talking him. But slowly she sat down, whining and shaking her head, her ears flopping as she did so. A quick pat on the dog's head before he scratched behind her ears and then he was finally able to move closer to Yelena.

Anatoly rolled his eyes, not even surprised that the dog listened to his brother so easily. For all he had tried the dogs did not listen to his commands, only Vladimir's. And Vladimir had definitely trained them well. He stands, keeps one firm grip on Zvezdochka's collar with one hand and strokes her head slowly.

A small smirk began to tug at the corners of his lips as a thought crossed his mind.

“Well since you have a guest over I think I will go take my shower.”

Vladimir quickly turns on his heel, eyes wide, and shaking his head. “Oh no no no! We agreed that I'm taking my shower first!”

Anatoly crossed his arms, glad when Zvezdochka doesn't attempt to run forward but instead yawns and turns to go lay beside the couch. “You have a guest over. It would be so rude of you to just ignore her.” His smirk grows as Vladimir lets out an aggravated huff. “Besides, I am much quicker in my showers then you are. You always use up all the hot water.”

Vladimir runs a hand through his hair as he tries to think of anyway he could stall his brother from stealing the shower. Then grins as he remembers Yelena standing behind him. He turns sharply once more and asks smoothly, voice low, “Would you like to take a shower with me?”

Now it was Anatoly who was annoyed. He huffed and shot daggers into the back of his brother's head, already knowing full well that the blonde woman would more than likely agree. His brother can be charming when he wants to be and it's clear to see that he's trying very hard to get Yelena's attention on only him. But Anatoly nearly laughs at both her response and his brother's reaction instead.

“No.”

“N- no? What do you mean 'no'?” Vladimir asks, the slight hurt he feels being covered more by his confusion.

Yelena raises an eyebrow at his tone. “I mean no.”

Vladimir tilts his head, one hand goes to rest on his hip and the other to rub at the back of his. “But why?”

“Because I have already showered. I don't want my makeup to run,” Yelena adds almost as an afterthought. Then has to bite back a smirk before continuing, lightly touching her fingertips to her lips, “I'm wearing chapstick.”

She says it as a joke but her tone is still monotone and neither brother can tell.

So Vladimir lets out one more annoyed groan then snaps out, “Fine, Tolik! You get the shower first!”

Anatoly lets out a soft, “Yes!” Before he leaves the two blondes in the kitchen.

Vladimir shakes his head more in amusement than annoyance now but is still very clearly bothered. More with her than his brother though. He puts her not wanting to shower or sleep with him as her just being shy and inexperienced. So he waves the unease away and figures they can cross that bridge later since she isn’t ready yet.

He turns and looks at Yelena again, thinks he'll never get tired of seeing her. He wants to touch her hair, remembers it being soft between his fingers, wants to play with the curls.

“What sort of food do you like anyway?”

Yelena glanced up at him and couldn't help but be surprised to see genuine curiosity on his face. He truly seemed to want to make her happy even if it was something as small as cooking a meal.

“I...” She trails off.

What kind of food  _ did _ she like?

She couldn't afford to be picky. It was either eat or don't in the Red Room. Handlers didn't care either way. The weak were of no use to them. So she tries to think back to before when she was eight years old and her mama cooked every single day but nothing comes to mind.

“I will eat anything that you cook.”

He gives a nod and begins to reach for ingredients to make a quick meal. He knows his blini are amazing, had been complimented more times than he can remember, and so thinks that is a safe meal to make for Yelena.

Yelena moves closer, watching over his shoulder on her tip toes as he stirs the ingredients together. She frowns as she notices him tensing but thinks nothing of it and moves closer still until she's nearly touching him.

“What are you making?”

“Blini.”

Yelena wrinkles her nose in thought. She and her fellow students hadn’t eaten blini very often and when they did it was not anything like how her mama had made. Sofiya had always added sour cream along with salmon to hers. Sometimes caviar. Some had fruits and Yelena’s favorite had always been when her mother added apples.

Now the blini in the Red Room… it was not good to say the least. Tasted like soggy cardboard, was bland, and probably made from the tears of the weak.

“Lenosha? Please don’t hover over me.”

Yelena makes a face but takes a few steps back. “Better?" 

“Yes, actually,” Vladimir responds easily, almost teasingly. “You want anything with them? We have some leftover salmon in the fridge or maybe apples-”

“I like apples,” Yelena interrupts, perking up.

Vladimir nods and moves to take two apples from the bowl on the opposite counter. He peels them quickly then begins to cut them into small bite sized cubes. Sets them in another bowl and then pulls a pan from the cabinets.

“Get me the butter?” He asks, pointing to the fridge. “And milk. Thank you, dear.” He grins when she flushes at the nickname but doesn't tease her. Just melts the butter, stirs in the sugar and milk, then adds the apples to the pan.

For a few moments they say nothing, the only sound filling the silence being the apples getting cooked and the shower running on the other side of the apartment. Yelena wonders how Vladimir typically prefers his blini. What his other favorite foods are. She wonders if he wants to know as much about her as she wants to know about him and doesn't know how to feel about that thought.

Almost as though he's reading her mind he clears his throat and says almost awkwardly, “I always liked when my mama would add strawberries on top. She made them really good when- I liked when she cooked salmon.” He stirs the apples slowly as the memory of New Year's Eve and being seven come to mind.

How he'd helped her cook. How she'd taught him how to make Olivier salad and how Anatoly had been hovering in the kitchen, trying to steal bites of food much to their mama's annoyance. But both Anatoly and Vladimir and their papa had known she was never really annoyed. She'd make small plates of snacks for both of her children and laugh when they took their plates and ran off to eat.

“My... my mama, she made blini more for breakfast than dinner or a snack really. Usually had apples or blueberries with them,” Yelena said before she could think too much on it. It feels weird to be telling someone something as simple and personal like this.

“You like blueberries?”

Yelena snorts, not even bothering to hold it back or be embarrassed by doing so. “No. I hate them. She added blueberries when I was being a rotten little brat.” She smirks when Vladimir laughs loudly at that.

They fall into silence once more, mulling over this new information of the other. Both feel closer in a way and it's surprising that something as small as learning one's least favorite fruit and what one likes to eat can cause this change.

Vladimir wonders if it was like this with his parents. Ivan and Ekaterina had always been so in love, anyone could tell just from being around the couple. They had had the type of love that was easy and flowed like a river and both Vladimir and Anatoly had wanted it for themselves one day. Now that he's met Yelena, he wonder just how long it will take to make her love him the way he already loves and needs her.

But Yelena, she still feels weary about having a soulmate. Can only remember being a child and seeing how much her parents had detested each other no matter how hard they had tried to hide it from her. But with Vladimir she doesn't feel how her parents had always looked. She feels happy and at home. Almost as though the world itself is at peace.

It's Vladimir who breaks the silence once more.

“You can take your coat off, Lenosha. If you'd like.”

So she does. Wearily moving past Snezhinka who had seemingly refused to move from her position on the floor, and placing the coat on the table. She turns and stares at Vladimir when she feels his eyes on her and feels a small tug in her chest and a warmth spread to her ears at the look he's giving her. He seems to like how she looks with one less article of clothing on. The feeling is weird. So she decides to talk and move his attention back to the food and off of her hips.

“Did you want me to take my shoes off too?” She asks, thinking back to their first meeting.

Vladimir huffs a small breathy laugh but nods. “Yes actually if you don't mind. Need to take mine off too. The dogs distracted me and- oh that bastard. Tolik just walked through the house in his boots,” he explained when she raised an eyebrow. She let out a quiet 'ah' sound as he continued speaking.

Yelena moved back to the door where a few other pair of shoes sat and placed her boots next to the pile. It isn't too long before the apples are finished cooking and Vladimir is then moving to toe off his own boots and is setting them next to hers. Then going back to the kitchen to pour the batter into a pan.

“So why are you here?” Vladimir asks. “You haven't been coming to the meetings.”

It isn't said accusingly, just a statement. But Yelena can hear the faint undertone of bitterness and hurt to it. And she doesn’t like how that makes her feel, knowing she could have done something to keep Vladimir from sounding like that.

“I have been busy,” she says slowly, choosing her words carefully. She crosses her arms over her chest. “I have a job other than seeing you, you know this.”

Vladimir scowls down at the batter in the pan. Flips it when it's covered in bubbles. “I know. I figured you did, all things considered. But we agreed to this set up so that we could see each other. Didn't we?”

He looks up and blue stares into warm brown.

And Yelena feels as though she’s drowning.

“We... did, yes.” She says, still speaking slowly. She bites the tip of her tongue in her mouth and wonders just how to phrase the words that float around in her mind but settles for, “You know that I am the Black Widow.”

“Of course I do,” Vladimir answers back, eyes rolling in a mix of amusement and exasperation. He has the urge to look away from her, nearly does. “But...”

He trails off, saying nothing for several moments. And Yelena has to wave her hand before he’ll continue.

“But I want you here with me. And you obviously want to be with me. Why else would you be here?” He asks, looking as though he already knows the answer. 

He’s very confused when instead of looking caught, she frowns and shakes her head. “I came to talk to you about the meetings. I will not be going to them.” Vladimir frowns, flips the blini in the pan. And she continues. “I have to train more. My graduation ceremony is coming up. And I can have no distractions. I can’t be with you. You have to know that, right?”

Vladimir shakes his head, finally tears his eyes from her to stare down at the food, and snaps back, “Of course you can! You can be with me and be the Black Widow just like how I can be with you and hide that from the bratva!”

Yelena scoffed, arms crossing over her chest then dropping back to her sides where she stuffed her hands into her pockets. “It does not work that way. We can’t work. You are a part of the vor v zakone! I work with the GRU. You think there is ever a chance in anyway that you and I could be together?” 

"Just give me a chance. Give us a chance. Let me prove that we could work," Vladimir begged.   
  
"It- this,  _ us _ ,” a waving hand gesturing between the two of them, “will  _ never _ work."   
  
"It could. Just let me try. Let  _ us  _ try."   
  
For a few moments Yelena says nothing, seems conflicted on what she wants.   
  
"I know you want me too," Vladimir begins again, softer now. "So just... give us a chance. I know you feel it, the bond is already there, and I know you feel the same way that I do."   
  
He counts it as a victory when she doesn't disagree with him, further proving his point.

It’s silent for a few moments but finally she shakes her head. “My wants don’t matter.”

“They do to me.” Vladimir looks at her for just a moment then turns his attention back to the pan.

Yelena sighs, unsure of how to go about her goals now. Vladimir has a point-- she does want him. Wants to stay with him. They'd only been around each other twice, three times now, and already the bond pulls on her heart in a way she's never felt before. She wants to leave, wants to forget about ever meeting him. Hates that she'd ever gone back to Fabrika after Pyotr's death to begin with. But she also wants to stay and almost is amazed at the way that the universe happened to align itself to allow the two of them to meet.

In the end staying is what she does.

Mostly because Anatoly runs back into the kitchen with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, water dripping from his body to form multiple small puddles on the floor, and a gleeful smirk dancing across his face as he yells, “If she is the Black Widow, then that means that I was right about the Winter Soldier existing and you owe me six hundred rubles you son of a bitch!”

Vladimir throws a dish cloth at his brother's retreating figure and yells back, “I cook your food! That's more than enough, you asshole!”

When he turns his attention back to Yelena, he raises an eyebrow at the way Yelena is staring wide eyed at the wall.

“Are you... alright, Lenosha?”

Yelena slowly nods. “He was... very naked under that towel.”

Vladimir makes a face as he begins fixing plates for the three of them, deciding that he'll get to the dishes later. “I'm very sorry about him. He seems to live just to embarrass me.” He gives her more of the food than he does himself. “Lenosha-”

“I will be at the next meeting. But only that one.” She cuts him off.

Vladimir perks up but shrugs. “I was just going to ask if you wanted more apples on top? I already filled them, but you said you like apples.”

They talk for a few minutes while they still have the dining room to themselves and agree to be subtle. No one but them and Anatoly need to know that they’ve found each other. They can keep a secret.

It’s better that way.

* * *

**_April, 2003  
_** ** _Glavnoye Razvedyvatelnoye Upravlenie Headquarters -- “The Aquarium” -- outside Moscow_**  

A handful of days pass before Lika is interrupting another of Yelena’s training session with news that General Tischenko wishes to see her immediately in his office.

Upon arriving to his office she sees another man in a military uniform, hair dark brown, and eyes taking in every minute detail.

His name is Alexei Shostakov and Yelena feels as though she should be honored that the general deems her ready to be partnered with the Red Guardian. 

But really all she feels is insulted that he seems to think her not fully ready to work alone. 

* * *

**_May, 2003  
_** ** _Moscow, Russia_**  

As it would go, the two blondes aren’t as subtle as they thought they were. Yelena wears her growing fondness, for that's all it is at this point and not the love and pure adoration that Vladimir lets pour from his being, for Vladimir on her face for all to see.

Alexei notices the looks. The lingering touches of fingertips as she and Vladimir exchange envelopes of information and money. But he says nothing. At first anyway. Until it becomes a problem during a handful of their meetings.

The two spies are sitting at a table in the corner of a cafe sipping on coffee and eating a small snack, more to appear normal than out of actual want for the snacks, and waiting for Vladimir and Anatoly. It'd become a rule when after the second meeting Vladimir hadn't come with his brother but a woman.

That had been the first time a problem arose.

The woman had looked annoyed, like she'd rather be anywhere else than in the café they were meeting at, and Yelena took in her appearance with narrowed eyes. She's not much taller than Yelena, just a handful of centimeters. Her hair is a dirty blonde, cut short, and ink paints her fingers and peeks from her shirt. She has an 'x' on her finger, much like the one Anatoly wore. The tattoo that stands out the most to Yelena is the one that looks like a ring with a crown in the middle.

Once the exchanging of envelopes had been done Yelena leaned forward, a dangerous glint in her eyes, and whispered snappily, “You bring Anatoly next time.”

Vladimir raised an eyebrow but took a sip of his coffee before answering her back. “My brother is busy. He had another job to do. He can’t always come with me.”

He doesn't seem to realize just how annoyed Yelena is until she snaps out in something she refuses to call jealous, “If I wanted to see some whore, I'd just go to Fabrika! You  _ will _ bring Anatoly next time!” Then she's standing and walking away, leaving behind an amused Alexei, a surprised Vladimir, and a fuming Vera.

Vera stood quickly, chair scratching against the wooden floor as she did so, only to be jerked back into her seat by Vladimir.

“Vera, no!” He whispered, gripping her arm too tightly for her comfort.

She just shrugged him off and snapped back, “That little bitch wants to fight, then I'll give her a damn fight!”

“Oh trust me,” Alexei nearly laughs out, “as amusing as that would be to watch, you really don't want to do that. We'll be in touch.”

The next meeting a week and a half later Vladimir brought Anatoly.

And now the second problem was fast approaching when instead of Vladimir and Anatoly sitting across the table from them, it's a couple of brunettes, a man and woman, both with tattoos painting their fingers and hands. 

“And you are?” Yelena asks, blowing softly on her steaming coffee. 

“Valery,” the man introduces himself curtly. “Liliya,” he tilts his head slightly to the woman.

He looks no older than Vladimir while Liliya looks to be near the same age as Yelena. A simple glance to their hands and the world can see that their small scars on their knuckles and the back of one hand are shared. 

Alexei raises an eyebrow at the two of them but says nothing. It bothers him not one bit who gives him their information so long as they’re receiving it for General Tischenko. 

Unfortunately, but to the surprise of none, Yelena is not pleased. And does nothing to hide her annoyance. 

“Where is Vladimir?”

Valery looked almost smug, a smirk beginning to grow on his face, as he leaned forward slightly. “He got arrested last night.”

He sounded far too pleased by this for Yelena's tastes. She has the urge to punch that growing smirk right off his face. 

“Why?”

A shrug from the man. “It was, ah, what was it Lila?”

The woman rolled her eyes, more at him then the question but it bothered Yelena nonetheless. “Public indecency. The poor idiot-” Yelena purses her lips, eyes narrowing, “-got into a bar fight.”

Yelena annoyance quickly turns to confusion and she shared a confused look with Alexei for half a moment, then raised her eyebrow at the two mafia members. “What does public indecency have to do with a bar fight?”

Liliya made a face, not fully able to hide her amusement. “That would be a question for him but that isn't why we're meeting here, now is it, Captain Belova?”

Yelena narrowed her eyes but slowly sat back, pretending to be at ease as though nothing were wrong and like she wasn't having to hold herself back from snapping the other young woman's neck with her feet. Alexei hummed softly, taking a sip from his coffee.

He already knew that this was not going to end well. Yelena had a temper, dangerously so, and was more often than not reminding him of a child with the way she acted like a brat. So unlike how his once dear Natalia, his krasivyy pauk, had been. It was different from the way many of the other members of the Red Room acted, not necessarily a bad thing. Until Yelena's hotheadedness affected how missions were to be played out.

This was proving to be one such time that he wanted to wring the girl's neck and he half wondered if being partnered with the blonde widow in training was some sort of test on his thin growing patience.

Liliya took a bite from her cookie before saying, “Kirill sent us in Vladimir and Anatoly's place. Since Vera made it quite clear that you did not approve of her coming with Vladimir.”

Alexei just barely bit back an exasperated sigh as Yelena pursed her lips, fingertips drumming softly on the table right next to her coffee cup, gears clearly turning in her mind as she ran over the possible outcomes an outburst may have.

And just as he knew she would, Yelena stands from her chair and snaps out coldly, “I deal with Vladimir or none of you at all. Where is he?”

“Prison,” Valery repeats, eyebrow raised. Clearly he didn't think the woman before them was following.

But Yelena just shoots him a glare before turning her attention back to Liliya. “Which one?” She asks, annoyed with the patronizing tone that Valery gave her.

Liliya tilts her head, not sure why the woman who clearly worked for the government would be so concerned with someone like Vladimir. “One in the city. Just a jail cell for now.”

Yelena nods. Then she leaves the café without waiting for any response from the others.

The two mafia members glare at her retreating back but don't move to leave just yet. So Alexei takes one last sip from his coffee before saying, “I need that information from Vasily if you don't mind.”

“Well, we need our money.” Valery snaps back.

Alexei's only response is a gesture to the door and, “I'm afraid to inform you but your money just walked out that door.”

The woman is the one who snorts, rudely and so unladylike that it makes Alexei very nearly scowl at her, and snaps, “Then your information is leaving too.”

The young couple make to move but stop when he threatens them with a bored, “If you walk out that door, I happen to know a cell in Black Dolphin that could use an inmate.”

Valery rolls his eyes, ignores how Liliya has tensed in worry beside him, and snaps out, “I'm not afraid of prison. And I'm not afraid of you.”

“That's good I suppose. But I wasn't talking about you, Valerochka,” Valery scowls at the way the nickname is tossed at him, insulting in tone and so unlike how his grandmother and mother had when he was just a child. “I was talking about her,” Alexei continues, looking straight at Liliya.

It's not an empty threat and both realize it. If Alexei wants, he'll have either of them put in prison for the rest of their lives with very little communication to the other. He has the connections, the power, to do so.

And it's with this realization in mind and the threat to his soulmate that make Valery take a folded envelope from his coat pocket and toss it onto the table where Alexei takes it and pockets it.

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

“Fuck off,” Valery spits back, grabbing Liliya's arm and attempting to lead her away.

But Liliya holds her ground, shakes him off, and glowers at Alexei. “And what exactly are we supposed to tell Vasily? Huh? We can't just come back without the money, you prick.”

Alexei shrugs, coffee held in one hand. “That's not my problem.”

It's ten minutes after leaving with Yelena in the passenger seat until Alexei clicks his tongue disapprovingly.

“What?” Yelena drawls out, not once turning to look away from the window. It's clear to him that she's not fully focused on the mission at hand and he's more than willing to bet his very life that she's thinking about Vladimir.

Alexei shakes his head. “You shouldn't let the mafia member affect you work, Yelena.”

She doesn't even make a noise but from his peripheral vision he sees her tense and knows he's struck a note with her. So he continues and lets her know that he's learned her not so hidden secret.

“It wouldn't do good for General Tischenko to know that his Black Widow agent has feelings for her soulmate.”

Yelena clenches a fist, digging her nails into her palm in an attempt to stop her hands from quivering. She isn't sure if it's from worry, fear, or anger at Alexei for piecing together her secret. It's possible the shaking is from a mix of all three emotions. “And you're going to tell him?” It's with much effort that she's able to keep her tone dead of all emotion.

A tense silence follows her question and she feels her heart's quick beating in her chest. She wonders for only a moment if she could defeat Alexei in a fight right now. He has more years of training under his belt. But he's distracted and she can get to the knife in her boot far quicker than he can take his hand from the steering wheel to grab his gun.

But finally he grunts and sighs out, “No, little widow, I won't tell Tischenko. You're about as subtle as a gun. He'll find out on his own. If he hasn't already.”

It's not meant to be a comfort and it doesn't come across as one either. It’s a warning. 

* * *

**_May, 2003  
_ ** **_Moscow, near Red Square_ **

A handful of hours later Yelena finds herself back in the city, this time in her military uniform that she had not worn since murdering Petra and standing in the jail's front lobby. She's impatient as she waits for the police officers to bring out Vladimir.

Vladimir, on the other hand, scowls as two officers come to his cell and command for him to get up and come with them. He sits up from the highly uncomfortable bed that feels like it has rocks in its mattress, and lets them lead him out to the lobby. He supposes it's best that his brother show up late rather than never and is more annoyed than angry by now at the long wait.

All day he'd been in the cell, slept for a good bit of most of it. It'd been a surprise but not too much of one that he woke in jail. The last thing he really remembered was getting into a yelling match with his brother, leaving their apartment, and drinking in a bar. After two too many shots of multiple drinks his memory grows hazy.

Just thinking about his brother made Vladimir glare down at the floor as though it had personally offended him. His brother had not been in the mafia for nearly as long as Vladimir had and already Vasily seemed to have decided that he had earned his stars. It was enough to make Vladimir see nothing but red. And as he'd been drinking his anger away the fleeting thought of,  _ 'Talk to Kirya' _ , skated across his mind. Only to be brushed away because Vladimir knew that if he were to talk to Kirill about his and Anatoly's stars, he would blow up. And it would do no good to show his ass to his once lover.

Kirill and he, they had a special relationship. They were close and everyone in the bratva knew it. But no one other than Anatoly knew just how close they were. How close they'd been. It had never been Vladimir's intention to let even his brother know about just what Kirill meant to him but a week of living with Vladimir again and Anatoly had pieced it together. A surprise to Vladimir considering just how badly his brother had been going through the shock of not having any drugs to his system had been.

Joining the bratva had been Vladimir's decision, no one else's. He had been sixteen but not stupid and had been selling himself from the time he was fifteen years old. Kirill had liked his face, thought him pretty, and paid for a night with him. One night that quickly turned into many. And when Kirill had expressed an interest in Vladimir possibly joining the bratva, well Vladimir at sixteen had been more than ready to leave behind his life at the orphanage and a life of prostitution in favor of better things. Even if said better things weren't always better.

Come morning Vladimir had awoken to the police arguing quietly over what to do with him. It'd amused him, made him smirk gleefully. They couldn't send him away to a bigger prison , the only thing they'd arrested him for had been public intoxication and public indecency. The tattoos painting his skin were clear indication that he was in the mafia and been to prison many times before and the police officers were clearly reluctant to let him back on the streets. But they had nothing else to arrest him for currently and so Vladimir knew they would be letting him walk out soon.

It's no surprise that he's being bailed out but what is shocking is that instead of his brother or Kirill standing in the lobby, it's Yelena. Seeing her in her military uniform is new and makes his heart flip slightly in his chest and his brain go numb almost. He wants to take her to his apartment.

“Leno-”

She cuts him off with a held up hand and turns on her heel, fully expecting for him to follow her as she walks out of the police station.

He doesn't disappoint.

Once they're outside she tosses him the keys to the shiny black car she'd borrowed from headquarters. Vladimir fumbles with the keys, not expecting for her to toss them at his head, and after a few moments they slip from his hold to the concrete with a  _ 'schk' _ sound. He bends down to pick them up then stands straight and stares at Yelena in curiosity.

“Am I driving us to my place?” He asks, opening the driver's side as she slides into the passenger's seat.

“No, I want dinner. I imagine that you do as well, right?” She asks, waiting for him to start the car.

Vladimir's stomach picks that time to make a noise, proving her right, and he flushes a light shade of pink as he turns the car on. “Could go for food. What do you have in mind, dear?”

Yelena shrugs. She had very rarely been out to eat. And the few times she had been were when her papa took her to fancy restaurants. Something that she enjoyed on occasion but today she wasn't in the mood to wait long for food. And judging by the expectant look on Vladimir's face, he was ready food as well.

“What is nearby?”

Vladimir drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as he thought. “McDonald's is ten minutes from here?”

A nod and he's turning the key and they're driving. They ride in silence for only a few moments before Yelena is taking her hat off and tossing it over into Vladimir's lap.

“You want to tell me why you were arrested?” Yelena asks as she unbuckles her seatbelt.

Vladimir glances down at the hat in his lap then turns his attention back to the road. “Not particularly. Buckle your seatbelt back up, Lenosha. People drive like idiots and I don't want to crash.”

He doesn't even pretend to be surprised when she doesn't listen to him. But he does make a face when she begins climbing into the backseat.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm changing.” Yelena begins unbuttoning her suit jacket. Tosses it onto the seat and begins unbuttoning her blouse.

Vladimir doesn't even try to be discreet as he watches her in the rearview mirror. It nearly costs him wrecking the car and Yelena shoots a glare at him.

“Eyes on the road,” she snaps, shrugging the white blouse off her shoulders. “You crash this car and I’ll gut you.”

The blonde man just makes a face but slowly tears his eyes from her and onto the road. Then back up to the mirror as they stop at a red light. He bites his bottom lip as he watches her wiggle out of her skirt and toss it with the blouse. And groans softly in mild disappointment when she begins pulling jeans up her legs.

“Do- uh, you want your hat back?” He asks, raising the hat for her to see.

She snatches it from him with one hand, a plain black t-shirt in the other.

“Light is green.” They don't move forward. “Vladimir.”

“Mhm?”

“Go. The light. It's green.” She tilts her head forward and rolls her eyes as Vladimir begins driving once more.

He can't hide his disappointment when she finally tugs her shirt over her head and is climbing back into the passenger seat. The rest of the ride is in silence. Vladimir’s thoughts stay on how Yelena had looked in the backseat of the car in nothing but her underwear, while Yelena just drums her fingers against the door. 

The restaurant is nearly empty but for a handful of people. The two blondes order and Vladimir pays, albeit a tad grudgingly when Yelena gives him a very expectant look. Then she moves to find them a booth in the far corner to wait for Vladimir to bring them their food.

Yelena takes a bite of her cheeseburger and wrinkles her nose in mild distaste. “Oh, by the way, I met some of your  _ friends _ earlier today at our meeting.”

Vladimir freezes, chicken nugget halfway to his mouth. He frowns at her. She doesn't sound upset just monotone. Which makes it that much more difficult for him to understand how she feels.

He figures it may be best if he sticks with sounding uninterested as he isn't sure how she's feeling about him missing their meeting. It had been the other way around, her missing and him waiting until nearly a month ago. “Who did you meet with?”

“Valery-”

Vladimir cuts her off with a loud groan, eyes rolling and chicken nugget being tossed back into its box. “He is  _ not _ my friend! And let me guess, the other one was Liliya, right?” Her silence is answer enough and he rolls his eyes. “I can't stand Valery. I could kill him,” he leans forward slightly and Yelena spares a glance down to his hands. “I could honestly kill him. He pisses me off so much. He thinks he's so much better than everyone! Huge ego. Never shuts up. Pah!”

He sits back, slouching slightly in the seat and arms crossing. If Yelena is perfectly honest, Vladimir is reminding her of a pouting child. She thinks about asking how he and Valery don't get along when it's clear that Vladimir seems to have the same problems he accuses the other man of having. She waits a few moments before dipping a fry into her ketchup and instead settles with, “I am not fond of either Valery or Liliya.”

Vladimir perks up if only slightly. He's glad that she wasn't impressed with Valery, glad that she doesn't like him.

“I have something for you, by the way,” Yelena states, snapping her fingers as though she had nearly forgotten.

“Getting to see your beautiful face is more than enough,” Vladimir says, pouring on the flirtatious tone and grinning at her.

The young woman just raises an eyebrow and pushes an envelop across the small table to him. Vladimir frowns but picks it up, eyes widening only a fraction as he looks inside to see money.

“What is this for?” He asks, pocketing the envelope quickly.

Even though there are hardly any people in the restaurant this late he doesn't want to take the chance of anyone seeing what the two of them are doing. 

Yelena eats one more fry before responding. “I did not give the money to Valery and Liliya earlier. Alexei took the information we needed from them rather easily, a simple promise of a lifetime in prison was all it took, but I deal with  _ you _ and  _ only _ you.” She stares straight into his eyes and it takes a moment but finally Vladimir is grinning at her.

“If you did not give the money to Valery and Liliya, then they went back to Vasily empty handed.” Not a question, just fact.

Yelena shrugs and Vladimir can't help but let out a soft breathy laugh. He 'tsks' under his breath, shakes his index finger at her jokingly. “Oh they were in trouble when they went back to him.”

He can't help the amusement from showing on his face. It's funny to him whenever Valery is in trouble with Vasily. He and Valery were constantly at each others throats and everyone in the bratva knew it. Many a time everyone had been witness to a fight breaking out between them. And more times than Anatoly and Kirill had cared for, they'd had to drag Vladimir off of Valery while Liliya and Sergei dragged and held Valery away from Vladimir.

“Sounds like a personal problem for them,” Yelena says. A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth as Vladimir snickers softly. “Now, why don't you tell me why you were arrested. Valery and Liliya said it was a bar fight and for public indecency.”

Vladimir doesn't say anything for quite a few long moments. Instead he eats some of his food and looks around the restaurant, more so that he doesn't have to look Yelena in the face than anything else. And Yelena waits though impatience tugs at her and nearly forces her to demand that Vladimir just tell her. She bites her tongue and waits though.

In the end waiting seems to have been the best choice because he sighs and tells her softly, “Tolik is getting his stars.”

This clarifies absolutely nothing for Yelena and she just shrugs.

“Okay? What is that supposed to mean?”

Vladimir scowls. “It means that Vasily has decided that my brother deserves to be a captain. He's right below Kirya now.” He spits this out as if the very words offend him. 

Yelena stiffens at the nickname for the other man but decides to only ask about the importance of whatever stars Anatoly is receiving. The question bothers Vladimir to say the least. No, not that, it's the fact that he feels as though he's reliving the moment his brother had come home and told him Vasily wanted to give him the stars.

Vladimir slams his fist down on the table and Yelena's eyes widen at how furious he looks as he glares at her. “I've been in the mafia since I was sixteen year old and Tolik comes back into my life, only been here for barely even four years, and he's somehow risen above me? No! I call bullshit! It isn't fair!” He snaps out in a rush, attempting to keep his voice down. “I have worked my ass off for years! He leaves for ten years and just comes back, steals my life, and then wants to brag about it!”

In truth, Anatoly hadn't bragged. He had in fact been hesitant, and with good reason, to inform his younger brother of Vasily's decision to give him stars. But the moment he'd said it Vladimir's face had darkened, his knuckles gone ghostly pale as he held a plate and dishrag in his hands. And then he'd tossed the plate to the floor, the rag to the counter, and yelled at his brother. When Anatoly began yelling back, Vladimir stormed out of the apartment ignoring as Anatoly called after him. He called for Vladimir to come back but didn't follow, he wasn't stupid and knew that chasing after Vladimir could have an even worse consequence than just letting him leave.

And Vladimir, he'd gone to the nearest bar and drank himself stupid. A swiftly thrown punch that landed _just_ _right_ on another man's face to cause blood to gush from the nose. It was hazy to recall it. He wasn't sure how he'd lost his pants or how they'd been found just that he'd been sitting on the curb barefoot, pantsless, and reeking of alcohol when the police arrested him for yelling profanity at a mailbox very loudly. And when he'd woken up with top half of his body hanging off of the sorry excuse for a bed, his pants were on the floor along with his boots. His socks on the other hand were long gone.

Yelena didn’t understand why Vladimir would be bothered with Anatoly getting tattoos before him but she nodded along all the same as he complained bitterly.

And it’s only once he seems to be cooling down does she gesture to his pocket where he’d slipped the envelope filled with money and say, “Maybe that will help you with Vasily and this tattoo thing?”

Vladimir blinks at her, running the near question over in his mind. Then he grins. “It may. You are… absolutely amazing.”

A light flush paints her cheeks and he can’t look away from her face, finding her happiness at praise to be quite, well, adorable really.

Until she reaches over and swaps his chicken nuggets for her cheeseburger.

* * *

**_May, 2003  
_ ** **_Moscow, Russia_ **

As it would turn out, giving Vasily the envelope of money and saying, “From our lovely friend in the government. I think she likes me,” has Vasily humming in thought as he counts out the money now looking more pleased than pissed like when Vladimir had just barged into his office with no warning. 

Kirill looks between the two, his smirking ex lover and pleased best friend. It's clear that Vasily doesn't think anything much over Vladimir's silly statement of the GRU agent liking him. But Kirill does and it's obvious on Vladimir's face that he's pleased by this growing fact.

Vasily waves his hand, a clear  _ leave now _ to Vladimir. And normally Vladimir would have been annoyed at being waved away but he just gives a mock salute, a nod to Kirill, and the door shuts with a click behind him.

“Now tell me again why you think Vladimir hasn't earned his stars? I think he's proven himself quite well,” Vasily states, leaning back in his office chair and plopping his feet on the desk.

Kirill purses his lips and tries to think. Then a firm, “Give him a little bit more time. Giving him power, that's going to go right to his head. Let Anatoly have his first. Vo- Vladimir after.” And he makes his leave.

Vasily frowns, eyes rolling in exasperation at his friend. Vasily wasn't stupid. It'd taken some time to realize, yes, but he knew that Kirill wasn't interested in women no matter how much of a façade he put on. And Vasily knew that Vladimir had Kirill's attention the moment Kirill had brought him into his office and taken the then sixteen year old under his wing.

The older Vladimir had gotten, the two had become an on and off again type thing. Vasily didn't care. So long as work got done. But he would admit, he did like seeing his friend happy. And it was quite clear as day that the reason Kirill was trying to keep Vladimir from receiving his stars was his own way of protecting the blonde.

Until it became a problem, Vasily wouldn't say anything to his friend. He'd wait for Kirill to tell him himself.

* * *

**_July, 2003  
_ ** **_Moscow, Russia_ **

Yelena comes over a lot to visit Vladimir and, by association, Anatoly. Nearly every other night if she can help it. It becomes so common that after just two months Anatoly wonders if there was ever a time where she wasn't part of their lives.

And at first Vladimir seemed to love it. Looked forward to the nights when Yelena knocked at their door or snuck in through a window. But it didn't take too long before Anatoly noticed his brother growing agitated.

It's more noticeable when she leaves his bedroom, Vladimir following behind her with arms crossed and a scowl only just barely being bit back. Anatoly just thinks it's because his brother doesn't want Yelena to leave.

He soon realizes that it may be more than that when he overhears the two arguing from Vladimir's bedroom one night.

“-don't know what you want from me!” He hears Yelena's voice yell sounding angry and hurt.

Anatoly frowns, slowly sits up on the couch, and strains to hear their conversation.

“For you to stop leading me on!”

“I am not leading you on!” Yelena snaps back, sounding confused and furious at the accusation. “I told you where I lie, that my duty is to the Red Room! You are the one pushing this! You're the one who wants me!”

“You want me too!” Vladimir yells before there's the sound of something being broken.

“Not like this I don’t!”

“Yes you do! You just won't stop lying to me or yourself long enough to admit it!”

There's more banging. Another thing crashing and possibly shattering. Vladimir yells and then Yelena is storming from the bedroom with Vladimir hot on her heels.

“Lenosha! Lenosha, wait!” He's not pleading just yet but he sounds close.

The tone and his actions surprise Anatoly. His brother has never chased after anyone or begged for anything.

But Yelena just scowls and grabs her boots. The door slams shut in Vladimir's face and the blonde sighs, forehead thunking against the wood.

Anatoly frowns. He's not sure what to do or how to help. And really he doesn't know who to help. Vladimir is his brother, yes, but Yelena had quickly become like a younger sister to him and Anatoly wants her happy just as much as he wants Vladimir to be happy. So Anatoly decides that he'll let the two of them work themselves out.

Like the adults they should be.

* * *

**_July, 2003  
_ ** **_Moscow Russia_ **

It takes a full week before Yelena comes back. And another week after that for her and Vladimir to start fighting all over again.

They're in his room again, kissing. And Yelena finds herself being surprised that she's liking it as much as she is. Kissing Vladimir is fun for her. It's when his hands start to move from her hips that she gets uncomfortable. His hand is on her ass, pulling her closer but not moving back to her hip once she's pressed to his body. She moves, swats at his hand and frowns against his mouth when he lets out a small noise that sounds like an amused moan.

 But his hand moves from cupping her ass and back to her hip so she ignores the feeling of unease in favor of just kissing again.

The feel of his thumbs pressing into the skin above the hemline of her jeans makes her flinch slightly. But Vladimir takes the small movement as a shiver and so traces circles into her skin softly.

When he moves down to press kisses into her neck, she exhales, and he thinks she's sighing in pleasure and not the relief it truly is. So he slowly moves his hands up her shirt, fingertips trailing over their shared scars.

She tenses and he thinks it's because she doesn't want him touching the marks.

“Stop,” she breathes out, clenching his shirt in her fists in an attempt to ground herself.

But he doesn't stop, too excited as this is the farthest he's been able to coax her into going.

“Shh,” he whispers, trying to sound soothing. If she hadn't been so on edge, she may have heard that and may have even calmed down. “I'll take care of you, Lenosha. Trust me.”

She does and that realization still upsets her. But this... the touching. The way he's trying to pull her shirt up. The way she can feel him pressing against her. It all makes her uncomfortable and she doesn't understand why.

Finally, Vladimir moves his hands from her shirt and she feels better. His hands move to cup her face and his mouth is back on hers. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, kisses her harder, and softly licks at her lips. She's hesitant to open her mouth, more from nervousness now than the unease. But slowly she does and hesitantly mimics Vladimir's every move.

He seems to like it. A lot really if the noises he's making are any indication and this makes her feel bolder.

She freezes again as his hands once more slip up her shirt. He goes further this time until his fingers are touching the two scars on her chest. He pauses for only half a breath as he touches the scar he instantly knew to be from a bullet. Then lightly traced at the bottom of the older one that he'd had for as long as he could remember. It's when he tries to follow it higher that she breaks the kiss and says firmly, “Stop.”

Vladimir looks down at her, slightly put off and hurt but removes his hands from her shirt to run his fingers through her hair. “Lenosha, you have to trust me,” he whispers softly. “I'll make you feel good. I'm not going to hurt you.” He presses a kiss to her forehead and waits for her to relax again.

Then slowly trails his hands down her back.

“Stop.”

Vladimir frowns but otherwise doesn't react. Just moves to kiss at her neck and pulls her closer by her hips so they're pressed closer together.

“Vladimir,” Yelena nearly whines, eyes clenching closed and hands gripping the front of Vladimir's shirt.

He perks up, smiles into her neck, and can't help the way he jerks slightly at her saying his name so breathlessly.

“Mm?”

“Stop.”

Vladimir presses a kiss against her shoulder. “You don't sound like you want me to,” he whispers between kissing her shoulder and neck. “You sound like you like it.”

Yelena purses her lips as she firmly pushes at Vladimir’s chest. This time he lets her and backs up slightly, confused but even more annoyed. “I said to stop, Vladimir!”

His hands are on her hips, now gripping her tighter. “Why?”  He finally spits out, confused and annoyed with her. He doesn’t understand why she seems to want him then turns away. “Am I doing something wrong?!”

He sounds genuinely concerned, like if she were to say yes he'd actually try and make things better for her. But instead of comforting her it just annoyed her that much more.

“Yes!” He looks crestfallen for a moment but doesn't get a chance to ask what he can do to fix things. Just looks confused when she corrects herself. “No!”

A pause.

“I don't know!” She finally relents.

Odd feelings she isn't sure how to place come crashing over her. The feeling she'd felt in Fabrika while investigating Pyotr's death. The feelings of Nikki taunting her,  _ 'Reaching for the top but not quite there yet' _ . The feelings of just being  _ in _ Fabrika. They were the same things she felt when with Vladimir in this way and she doesn't understand her own feelings.

And clearly neither does Vladimir.

“What do you mean you don't know? Am I doing something wrong? Is it me?!”

Yelena shakes her head, heart racing. “No! Maybe? I don't know!”

This does nothing to appease Vladimir and he tosses back the accusations of two weeks ago into her face.

“I wish you'd stop leading me on! You let me do this-” he cups her face between his hands and forces a kiss on her, deepening it when she yelps in distress. He ignores her biting his tongue and just holds her tighter, one hand moving to grip her jaw tightly so she can't do it again. He draws back after a few moments, tip of his tongue bleeding from her biting him, and snaps out, “But you won't let me do anything else!”

Her heart races in her chest, beating so loudly that it's a wonder Anatoly doesn't hear it from the living room.

“So why? Anyone else would have made you have sex already! And I haven't! I've been patient for you. What am I doing wrong? Why won't you let me love you?”

Yelena slaps hands away and glares fiercely, blinks back tears before they even have a chance to properly form. “Maybe because I don't want to have sex with you!” She punches him hard in the center of the chest but takes no satisfaction in the way he gasps and stumbles back.

When she storms from the bedroom, Vladimir doesn't chase after her.

The dogs look up as she comes from Vladimir's room and Zvezdochka moves to stand, wanting to play or go for a walk, but sits when Anatoly lets out a noise. Anatoly standing from the couch and looking at her in worry makes Yelena choke out, “Sometimes I feel so broken. I- I can't... I don't want- he wants me in a way I don't like.”

Anatoly frowned at her tone and the way she looks so torn. “And what way is that?”

The question makes her pause with one boot halfway on. She licked at her lips as she searched for the correct way to phrase her unease. “He tries to make me have sex with him.” She says it softly but blunt and to the point.

Anatoly doesn't seem to like this as he shoots a glare accompanied by a scowl to his brother's room. “Do you want my advice?”

A simple shrug was her only answer.

So he moved to stand beside her and gave her shoulder a small comforting squeeze. “Give it time, okay? He shouldn't be forcing you, he should be being patient. Understanding. I've been in situations where I was forced too, you know. Where the woman wouldn't take my no and I was pressured. No one should do that to anyone.”

Yelena keeps the thought of,  _ 'That's rich coming from you since you're in the mafia,' _ to herself.

“Just give it time,” Anatoly repeats as he sees her looking unsure still.

“And that works for you?” Yelena asks.

Now it was Anatoly who shrugged. “Sometimes. Rarely.” He crosses his arms over his chest and drums his fingers along one arm. “Only once.”

Yelena isn't sure how to take his advice but finally gives a small forced smile. “Thank you.” Then she finishes pulling her boots on and leaves.

Anatoly waits a few moments after the door clicks shut then heads to his brother's room. He knocks but doesn't wait for a response, just enters.

His brother is lying on his back on the floor and staring up at the ceiling, replaying the moments with Yelena over in his mind. Now that he's not arguing with her and can think clearer he's not pleased with the way things had played out between them. But seeing a disappointed Anatoly in his doorway does not make things better by any means.

“Oh, what do you want, Tolik?” Vladimir asks, groaning. He vaguely has the thought of wishing he'd grabbed a pillow from the bed so he could use it to cover his face.

Anatoly placed his hands on his hips and tsked at the blonde. “You hurt Lena, Vova. How are you going to fix what you broke?”

Vladimir slowly picks himself off the floor and rather than answer the question he focuses on the fact that his brother seems to care about Yelena's feelings.

“Are you choosing her side?” He asks, more from curiosity than actually being upset.

Anatoly says nothing for a few moments but slowly nods. “Yes.” Yelena was like a little sister to him, he wouldn't lie about it.

The grin that Vladimir gives surprises him.

“I'm glad you two get along now,” Vladimir explains when he sees how confused Anatoly looks. Then he runs a hand through his hair, further ruffling up the blonde mess. “Tolik I don't know how to fix this.”

He looks so lost for a moment, remind Anatoly of when they were children and Vladimir would ask him a question, and Anatoly pulls him into an awkward hug. He's still not used to Vladimir being taller than him.

“It'll work out, Vova.”

“But how?”

“Just apologize to her.”

Vladimir groans loudly right into Anatoly's shoulder.

* * *

**_July, 2003  
_ ** **_Glavnoye Razvedyvatelnoye Upravlenie Headquarters – “The Aquarium” – outside Moscow_ **

Apologizing was not something that came easy to Vladimir. It never had even when he was a young child. He'd only apologized once to his brother without either of his parents ever having to make him and even then it hadn't been very verbal, a soft, “I'm sorry, Tolik,” and a slice of cake held out as a peace offering. Anatoly had wrinkled his nose but accepted the cake and apology and allowed his seven year old brother back into their bedroom. He'd even shared the cake with Vladimir.

But apologizing to Yelena felt like it was much harder to do. Especially since he was a twenty-three year old man and not a seven year old child.

He stood awkwardly in the streets, a bouquet of thirteen roses in hand. He didn't even like roses but he didn't know what flower Yelena liked.

It feels like an eternity before Yelena is coming out of the building in her military uniform and Vladimir hates how it feels as though he's shrinking under her cold glare.

“What do yo-”

“I'm sorry!” Vladimir blurting out the apology and interrupting her.

Yelena raises an eyebrow but otherwise doesn't show her surprise.

So Vladimir continues, muttering a swear at himself under his breath. “For interrupting you. And for the other night. I did not mean to make you upset. And...” He took a deep breath and looked up from the pavement to her eyes. “And I will never do that to you again. You say stop, I stop. I want to make you happy. I don't- I  _ won't _ do that to you ever again, I promise.”

Yelena isn't sure if it's the bond between them or the way that he's looking so earnestly at her or whether she just doesn't want whatever has been growing between them to die that makes her accept the roses and apology. “I don't like roses. My favorite flower is sunflowers.”

Vladimir grins. “Mine too, actually.”

She bites her lip, looks at the roses in her hands, then back up to him and says softly, “Just give me time?”

He looks surprised for a moment that she'd be willing to give him that chance but then nods hurriedly. “All the time in the world, Lenosha.”

Their bond grows, mends a bit in a way. It's a step forward for them both.

* * *

**_August, 2003  
_ ** **_Moscow, Russia_ **

Once again, Yelena has snuck her way into Vladimir and Anatoly's apartment and is waiting for them to come home. It's not too late, only eleven at night, so she sits cross legged on the couch with Zvezdochka's head in her lap. The large dog looks pleased as Yelena pets her, looks up looking as though she was just kicked in the face every time she stops.

It's amusing.

Snezhinka on the other hand is curled up on the floor, fast asleep.

Until the door opens, then she's raising her head in attention, a growl rumbling from her.

“Oh hush Snezhinka, it's just us,” Anatoly says, rolling his eyes as he toes off his shoes. He gives a small smile to Yelena, who just nods her head slightly right back at him.

Vladimir on the other hand grins brighter than the sun the moment he sees Yelena and runs over to her, hopping over the side of the couch so that he's sitting beside her. Zvezdochka lets out a bark which makes Snezhinka bark and she jumps up on the couch beside Vladimir. 

Vladimir makes a face as he pets her. “Hush! Hush that, both of you! It's just me. I'm not going to hurt Lenosha!” He practically coos out as if he were talking to very young children, scratching Snezhinka behind the ears.

He ignores Anatoly's light chastise of, “Oh come on! Vova! Get the dogs off the couch! You know I don't like pets on the furniture!”

And instead he quickly turns his attention back to Yelena. “I'm getting my stars!”

For a moment Yelena doesn't understand. Then the memory of just a few months ago when she'd come to bail Vladimir from jail comes to mind. How he'd been so upset over the unfairness of Anatoly getting his stars first. She smiles at him.

“Is that so?”

Vladimir nods, looking proud as could be. “Vasily is giving them to me himself!”

Yelena glances over at Anatoly, unsure of what his response will be. But he just smiles at the back of Vladimir's head, clearly proud and happy for his brother. He glances at Yelena and shrugs.

“Someone else gave me mine. Vasily has only given stars to Kirill before, no one else,” he explains.

Vasily giving someone their stars is clearly an honor.

The young woman nods slowly, a small bubble of pride beginning to form in her chest for Vladimir. “That's great. I'm happy for you, Volo'ya.”

It's the first time she calls him the nickname but definitely not the last.

* * *

**_August 2003  
_ ** **_Moscow, Russia_ **

They're lying in his bed, on their sides, facing each other. His right hand holds her left and he trails his thumb over her bruised knuckles gently.

Clearly she’d been training too hard again. On the punching bag or people, Vladimir wasn’t sure.

“Favorite color?” She asks quietly, tone just above a whisper.

“Blue,”he answers just as quietly. “Yours?”

She frowns. Gives a small half shrug. “I'll get back to you on that, Volo'ya. Hm... What's your favorite food?”

It'd taken her time but after Vladimir had apologized, promised to never hurt her again, they were quickly moving forward in their relationship, letting the bond between them grow stronger.

He grins at her. Brings her hand to his lips to press soft kisses to her fingertips. “Anything that Tolik bakes. He can't cook to save his life but he can bake nearly as good as our mama could.” He hums for a moment as he searches a question to ask. Then lets out a soft ' _ ah' _ . “Favorite person in history?”

The question makes her actually giggle. She'd only really known Vladimir a handful of weeks now but she'd learned quickly that the man had an odd vast knowledge on history. It was amusing.

“Lyudmila Pavlichenko,” she answers. “I wanted to be a sniper like her, did you know?” He shakes his head, of course he wouldn't know as she'd never told him this before. “When I was a child I mean. My aim is nearly as good as hers actually.”

Vladimir laughs a breathy laugh but says nothing, just ponders this new information over in his mind. This is his favorite part of their new little game, getting to know these small details about her.

She takes her turn to ask her next question.

“How did you get these, Volo'ya?” She asks, holding up her left wrist so the faint pale marks show.

Vladimir frowns as he stares at them. Then slowly reaches out and tentatively allows his fingertips to touch the scars. He doesn't like seeing them on himself let alone marking up her skin. And so covers them with his hand.

“Not yet, Lenosha.”

He doesn't beg her, not verbally anyway. But she understands the look in his eyes. And so she drops the question in favor of slowly pressing closer to him, taking comfort from having him near just as he does with her.

This, the comfort just from the others presence, is becoming a habit that they both want to partake in more often and though neither had admitted to this aloud both knew how the other felt.

* * *

**_September, 2003  
_ ** **_Moscow, near Staroprivoskiy Prospekt_ **

 Vladimir is working with Valery, displeased for multiple reasons. First being that he’s having to work with Valery. Then the fact that he’d much rather be back in the city waiting for Yelena to hopefully come visit him. And finally because the women that he and Valery are currently shoving into the back of their van are crying and it’s annoying to listen to.

“I swear to god if you don’t fucking shut up!” Vladimir threatened, glaring and holding his gun up. It wasn’t like he would actually shoot them, Vasily would be angry after all, but they didn’t have to know that.

Valery snorted, shoved a blonde woman rather harshly and was about to slam the door shut only to have Vladimir grab the door before it could click closed. 

Vladimir ignored Valery’s mutter of, “Oh what the fuck now?” And instead he pointed to the blonde woman and gestured for her to scoot closer back to him. 

“Your necklace. Give it to me.”

This had Valery along with the women freezing, their cries quieting slightly, as they stared at him in surprise. The stares he received were not wanted and Vladimir snapped his fingers in order to rush them. 

“Bitch, give me your necklace now before I take it my damn self!” He snapped, glaring at her.

With shaking hands she moved to unclasp her necklace. Only to burst into more tears when the clasp kept closing back since her quivering fingers didn’t have a firm enough grasp.

After a few more moments of fumbling she was able to unclasp the necklace and shakily hand it over to Vladimir’s waiting hand. He held up the piece of jewelry and looked it over.

Thin gold chain, a bright red ruby encircled in gold, and gold with a small diamond holding the ruby to the chain.

It was nice. Pretty but not gaudy.

He wishes he had a nice box to place it in but slips it into his jacket pocket, sending a small prayer that the chain not get tangled or broken as he does so.

“You can’t take that! Vasily will have you gutted for taking his property!” Valery snaps, slightly smug at the very idea of Vladimir in trouble with their boss.

But Vladimir just shrugs, look at Valery from the corner of his eye, and drawls out, “Oh come on. It’s just one small necklace. I’m sure you can find a pretty little thing for Liliya, hm?”

Valery frowns but doesn’t disagree with Vladimir. Liliya had a thing for shiny jewelry. So he looked the women over and brightened up as he saw a ring on one woman’s ring finger.

“You. I want your ring.”

She held her hand closer to her chest, right to her heart, and began crying even harder. “No! Please!” She cried, shaking her hair. “It’s my engagement ring!”

If she’d been hoping to extract any signs of pity from either man, she’s missed her mark terribly. All her crying does is piss Valery off even more.

“Hand it to me or I’ll cut your finger off and take it myself,” Valery snaps, pulling a switchblade from his pocket. Of course, he, like Vladimir, wouldn’t actually damage one of the women. He wasn’t stupid enough to harm Vasily’s merchandise, but it does the job of scaring her.

She holds her hand out and sobs as he snatches it from her.

Valery looks the ring over. Silver band with an oval shaped sapphire. Liliya would like it. He slams the door to the vehicle shut before he and Vladimir are moving to the driver's and passenger's seats. They make a silent agreement that Vasily doesn't have to know about them taking little trinkets. It's not hurting anyone after all. 

* * *

**_September, 2003  
_** ** _Moscow, Russia_**  

It's the last week of September, two weeks after Vladimir had taken the necklace from the woman, when he next sees Yelena at his apartment rather than at a meeting with Anatoly and Alexei.

She knocks on the door and Anatoly moves to answer it while Vladimir continues to cook.

“Vova!” Anatoly practically sang out, grinning as he led Yelena to the kitchen. “Lena's here!”

Vladimir just grins over at them both but doesn't stop cooking. He'd rather finish dinner then let Anatoly do it; he's rather fond of not having food poisoning.

“You're here really early,” Vladimir says, stirring the soup. His solyanka soup was almost better than his mama's in his opinion while Anatoly disagreed and said it was even better than their mama's.

Yelena shrugs and sits down at the table, shoes near the door with theirs. “I left a little early.”

“Snuck out you mean,” Vladimir lightly teases. She’s told him months ago of how she left headquarters to visit him and since then he’d enjoyed picking on her in a way, calling her a little rebel only to be flicked in the forehead or nose. “Dinner is nearly finished. I have a present for you before you leave, by the way.”

Anatoly makes a face behind Vladimir's back to Yelena, teasing his brother and it takes all of Yelena's will power not to snicker. Anatoly pretends to look lovesick. He sways slightly, a grin on his face and one could practically see hearts in his eyes and surrounding him. It's amusing to say the least and Yelena is sure that had Vladimir seen him, he'd have elbowed his brother right in the gut and flushed.

Dinner goes well though. They all talk, well, Vladimir and Anatoly do most of the talking while Yelena nods along.

But finally dinner ends, just not fast enough in Vladimir's opinion, and Anatoly goes to shower first to give his brother and Yelena privacy. Yelena watches Vladimir stand and move to his bedroom but stays seated.

“Alright,” Vladimir says, hands behind his back, clearly hiding something from her. A smile dances across his lips and Yelena nearly smiles, just barely bites it back, as he nearly bounces in spot with excitement. “Come here and close your eyes, Lenosha.”

So she does. She's just a step away from him when she closes her eyes, arms crossing.

“Open!”

In front of her is a beautiful necklace. It makes her eyes widen in surprise. A bright red ruby on a gold chain stares right back at her.

Her hand moves to cover her mouth. “Oh, Volo'ya, it's gorgeous. You shouldn't have,” she breathes out.

Her papa had never really gifted her with jewelry before. Nor had her mother. This was the first time anyone had ever done so. And she feels awkward, not sure how to proceed. Vladimir seemed to have the gift of continuously surprising her.

Vladimir just beams at her, loving her soft praise. “I'm glad you like it. I'll help you put it on? If you'd like?” He holds the necklace out just a few centimeters and gives her the option of letting him touch her.

Then leans forward and tries to put the necklace on her without making her turn her back to him. He likes looking at her face, especially when she's blushing like she is now. After a few moments of fumbling and a muttered swear that makes Yelena bite her lip to keep from laughing he's managed to get the necklace to clasp.

“I think,” he begins, touching the gem lightly, “that I should get you gifts more often.” 

* * *

**_September, 2003  
_ ** **_Moscow, Russia_ **

The topic of their shared scars comes up often. Not always but just enough to where sometimes they get on edge. Usually it's Vladimir who grows tense, changes the subject to something safer. How could he not when the stories behind his scars were as horrible as they were. Other times they seem more comfortable in their still growing relationship and with each other that they talk. 

They made a simple deal to not ask about scars once Yelena had asked Vladimir about the ones on their wrist. They agreed to only talk when ready. It was fair.

Yelena only tells him about Petra because she can see him staring at the small amount of the scar that peeks out from under her uniform top one night when she's snuck in after a brief mission.

He doesn't ask just as they'd agreed, and it's sweet, but Yelena has no problems recounting this story to him she it's exactly what she does, tell him about the scar in the center of their chest. How Pyotr had been like a father to her but he'd wanted more. She'd never once noticed how he wanted her. He'd grown desperate enough for her that he'd stolen her files, taken them to Fabrika and contacted Niki who had then hired Petra to be Yelena.

But Petra had taken her role too seriously to the point where she truly seemed to believe that she was not only Yelena Belova but the new Black Widow.

She'd shot Yelena and the kevlar had protected her but not enough to leave her unscarred.

Yelena had snapped her neck.

And Vladimir had kissed the back of her hand and breathed out, “I'm glad you did.”

She doesn't say anything, just gives a small smile. Because she's glad too. She'd earned the title of Black Widow that night.

He'd been drinking a bit more than he should have when he finally tells her about the scars she seemed most curious about. He'd given them to himself when he was thirteen. Told her how as a child of nine he had fallen dangerously ill with pneumonia along with his mother.

He had clearly gotten better but his mother, well Ekaterina had passed. Which left an eighteen year old Anatoly alone with a nine year old brother that he wasn't fully sure how to go about taking care of. Anatoly tried his hardest to take care of Vladimir. Then had to leave him at an orphanage with promises that he'd be back soon. He had a job waiting for him in St. Petersburg that would pay more than what he was doing in Moscow and in just a few months he'd have enough money to take Vladimir with him.

But things didn’t go as planned. Life happened, as it was bound to do.

Vladimir told her how he'd waited everyday for Anatoly. How he'd begun to feel completely abandoned and alone. Unwanted by the only family he had left. He'd lie awake some nights just tracing over his scars because they proved that there was someone out there who had to want him, right? And so he'd given himself more in desperation to just feel something more than the bleak empty loneliness he felt.

He waited and waited for Anatoly but finally he was fifteen and couldn't wait anymore. He met Kirill. He joined the mafia. And he was eighteen before Anatoly came back to Moscow addicted to cocaine.

“I love my brother,” Vladimir says as he finishes his story. “I do. He's the only family I really have. But I still hurt when I think about it. And I know he does too.”

Yelena hums in thought. She isn't sure what to say to comfort him. She'd never been the best with words. So she takes his hand in hers and runs her thumb over his knuckles, right over the small scars they share and the tattoos that paint his skin.

Finally she settles with stating the simple known fact of, “Tolya loves you.”

* * *

**_October, 2003  
_ ** **_Moscow, Russia_ **

Until Snezhinka starts growling and barking loudly, Vladimir had been sleeping quite soundly. Then he is rubbing sleep from his eyes and subtly trying to reach into his nightstand for his gun only to pause when Yelena says, “It's just me, stupid dog.”

Vladimir rolls his eyes and sits up. “Don't call-” he cuts himself off with a yawn, “-Snezhinka is not stupid.”

The response he receives is a scoff as Yelena closes the window. So he continues speaking.

“You sneak in and it worries her, she's just doing her job of guarding the place. Just use the door. Like a  _ normal _ person.” Another loud, only slightly exaggerated yawn.

He glances over to her and watches as she pets his dog. With the light shining in through the window he can see that this time she isn't in civilian clothing but the suit she'd worn the first time she'd snuck into his bedroom. He likes it. Doesn't think it's very practical if she's supposed to be a bullet proof super spy. But he says nothing about that.

“Come sleep with me?” He asks.

Yelena frowns, shakes her head. “I need to go back to headquarters soon. Just wanted to see you.” She flushes in embarrassment at admitting this. “Besides, I'm not exactly dressed for bed,” she says in a rush, gesturing with one hand down to the kevlar outfit.

Vladimir takes his time looking her over, stares at her still too thin abdomen, then shrugs as he lays back in the bed. “Get one of my shirts if you must take off your bondage gear.”

“It is not bondage gear!” Yelena splutters out.

The blonde man just raises an eyebrow. “Lenosha. I say this with love but you are wearing a shirt that only covers your chest and arms. Your shirt and pants, they're leather-”

“Kevlar!”

“... whatever. Point is, you look like you are about to join a dominatrix porno. And as fun as that would be to play, right now I just want to sleep,” Vladimir says. “Just get one of my shirts. Come sleep with me even if it's only for a little bit?”

Yelena rolls her eyes but moves to his dresser to pull out a shirt. She can't say no to him when he's making  _ the face _ . She, like Anatoly, seems to have found herself falling for it far too often. And Vladimir is well aware that they both can't tell him no when he makes it and he isn't sorry. Especially since Yelena is tossing her uniform to the floor, weapons making a dull thud sound as they land on the pile, and slipping into his bed once she has his shirt on.

It takes them a few moments of moving around before they're comfortable. Yelena lying her head over his heart with him wrapping his left arm around her and playing with her soft curls.

“I think I have an answer now,” she says softly. He hums in response, eyes closing on their own. “For my favorite color. I like purple.”

“Mm, pretty,” Vladimir mutters, sounding half asleep already.

But Yelena isn't tired, still too high on adrenaline from her small mission of spying for General Tischenko. She doesn't even realize she's still talking, telling Vladimir a story really, until she's halfway done.

She tells him the story of when she was six years old and her mama had bought her her first pet, a snow white rabbit that she'd childishly named Snegurochka since that was her favorite story at the time. She loved her little bunny so much. But she'd only had him for less than three weeks when he suddenly went missing.

Sure that the little rabbit had escaped his cage she'd gone looking all over the house, panic growing the more time went on. She'd grabbed her coat and scarf and mittens and boots then trudged outside to see if little Snegurochka had possibly escaped the house. Then burst into tears when she found her bunny frozen to death in her mama's garden.

She'd gently picked up the little thing, cradled him in her arms, and went back inside crying out for her mama to help. But Sofiya had been unable to bring the bunny back to life of course and Semyon had rolled his eyes and stooped down to his daughter's height and told her she needed to focus on her studies, not a pet rodent.

It'd hurt her little heart and she'd thrown herself at her papa and cried into his shoulder. He'd let her cry it out, rubbed her back soothingly, but after she'd gotten the crying out of her system he told her to forget about the rabbit. Sofiya had glared coldly at the back of his head as she'd placed the frozen rabbit in a small cardboard box.

Yelena half suspects that Vladimir's fallen asleep and so is surprised when he mumbles, “I'm sorry, Lenosha.”

She just shrugged. “It's fine. Not your fault. Besides, it was years ago.”

He hums softly. Oddly enough, she's the first to fall asleep. Vladimir mulls the story over in his mind for a few more moments then yawns and joins her in sleep.

Come morning she’s left and his shirt is folded up on the foot of his bed.

* * *

**_November, 2003  
_** ** _Moscow, Russia_**  

Russia. It's a place that Natasha truly never thought she'd be coming to. Or at the very least she thought more time would have passed before she'd step foot back into the country. The place she'd once naively called her home.

She's on a mission with Clint for S.H.I.E.L.D., gathering intel. Nothing she isn't used to. The part that was new was that she wasn't spying on a government official but kidnapping the leader of the Moscow mafia.

Vasily Sokolov ran most of Moscow and proudly flaunted this to the authorities. No matter how hard they tried to keep him locked up, Sokolov seemed to always get free after living like a king in prison. Money could buy anything it would seem.

But now he had valuable information that S.H.I.E.LD. needed and Fury had sent his best agents. Vasily Sokolov would willingly give them the information they needed and then would rot in prison for the rest of his miserable life or Clint and Natasha would use force and then he would rot in a cell regardless, just with more broken bones and trauma.

The two agents are walking side by side, Clint with one arm thrown casually over Natasha's shoulders. To any they would look like a couple on vacation and not like assassins getting ready to stake out the mafia.

Their leisurely stroll is interrupted by the sound of gunshots and screams. Clint automatically covers Natasha while she on the other hand just raises an eyebrow. She's clearly far too used to the police and mafia getting into turf spats. Even though she'd never been in the middle of one like now, she'd heard of them while in the Red Room.

They look to where the commotion is coming from just in time to see a brunette man get tackled to the ground by two officers. He struggles but falls still, would rather stay alive than be shot. Another shot goes off and a blonde man lets out a yell as he falls to the pavement, also tackled by two cops.

The brunette begins struggling all over again as he sees the blonde fall, probably jumping to the conclusion that he'd been shot. But he falls still, forehead to the pavement, when the blonde begins yelling profanity at the police officers.

The blonde turns, catches Natasha's eyes and falls still for only a moment before he's turning back to the police and fighting with them.

Natasha is almost sure that she's seen that shade of blue before, a cornflower blue, bright and dazzling, but right as the memory is almost within her grasp it disappears into smoke but words remain.

_ "We'll see each other again, right?" _

The words disappear, echoing into nothing, before she can remember when she had heard them or who had even said them.

She and Clint continue watching the scene play out before them. The two men are forced into handcuffs, dragged into standing positions and shoved into separate cars. Only once the police cars are driving away do the two agents turn and go back to the mission at hand; locating Vasily.

 Natasha doesn't spare the police cars another glance. And she doesn't understand the feeling her chest the pops up and tugs on her heart. It's something from a memory. But then again, so are most things. The Red Room had done so well in taking those from her.

* * *

**_December, 200  
_** ** _Siberia, Russia – Utkin Prison_**  

Being cold, tired, and hungry have become something Anatoly and Vladimir, along with everyone else in the prison, are used to. It's a horrible feeling and often times they all wonder if they'll ever feel human again. The guards treat them as though they're animals, a bother to them and a plague to society.

Food consists of cold soup that tastes as though it's days old and a stale piece of bread if they're lucky.

Anatoly and Vladimir have a game they like to play at night when sleep doesn't come to them. They imagine they're back in Vladimir's small apartment in the city. Or, well, anywhere other than where they are now really. Because anything is better than this frozen hell they've found themselves trapped in.

That night is Vladimir's turn to start their game and he begins just as Anatoly knew he would.

“I'm going to the kitchen-”

Anatoly cuts him off with a quiet scoffed out, “You always start with the kitchen.”

Vladimir nudges him in the thigh with his foot. “That's because I'm always hungry, Tolik.” He waits but Anatoly just shrugs, silently agreeing with him and finding no fault in his brother's logic. So Vladimir closes his eyes once more and imagines the apartment. “I'm petting Snezhinka. She's soft, just got a bath.”

Anatoly closes his eyes, a sad smile on his face. Vladimir misses his dogs. It'd be cute if it didn't break his own heart to listen to how broken up about it his brother sounds.

“Zvezdochka just ran over, she was laying on the couch because she knows you don't like it.” Anatoly snorts but otherwise stays silent. “I'm petting her too. And now I'm going to the fridge. It's cold when I open it-”

Groans from not only his brother but Oleg and Alexei as well. The last thing any of them want is to imagine more chill to the air. Though, in fairness, both brothers had assumed that their cell mates were asleep. Oleg had been snoring just moments ago they were sure of it.

But Vladimir just ignores them. “I reach into the back and oh what's this?”

“More stroganoff?” Alexei asks tiredly, voice slightly hoarse from the screaming he'd done earlier as the guards beat on him.

Anatoly snickers and the sound of him snapping his fingers breaks the silence like thunder. “Wait let me guess, left over borscht?”

A creaking sound as Oleg turns over, the mattress not liking his movements very much. “You're both wrong. It's going to be cake again.”

Vladimir opens his eyes just to shoot the three snickering men a glare. Not that it does any good, they can't see it in the darkness. “Actually, you are all three  _ wrong _ . It's,” his voice drops as though he's about to spill a very important secret, “ _ vodka _ .”

There are small moans of appreciation now. So far, Vladimir preferred foods when he would start the game. The scenes were always the same, predictable now, but they were enjoyable to listen to none the less. Anatoly on the other hand liked to set the scene on the streets of Moscow, sometimes even very rarely he'd describe St. Petersburg in amazing detail. He liked to describe summer breaks at the beach.

Vodka though, it was something they all missed greatly and therefore was a shock that it'd taken over a year for it to become a part of the game.

Vladimir hums softly as he imagines the glass bottle chilled and full of the clear liquid. “I'm going to take a shot of it. Just, shot it.” He makes a gesture as if he's tossing back a shot then shakes his head, “No making a drink.”

Anatoly rolls his eyes and gives a low amused mutter of, “You're a child.”

While Oleg snorts, “That's going to hurt, idiot.”

The blonde shakes his head before correcting him. “No, it's going to  _ burn _ .” A moment's pause as he tries to go back to imagining the bottle of vodka in his hand and the fridge in front of him. “I take a gulp, that was more than a shot. And it burns so nice.” He leans his head back, eyes still closed, as he imagines the warmth in his throat spreading in his chest.

He just barely hears as the other three men in the cell let out soft appreciative sighs as they also imagine the taste of their favorite vodka brands. The imagined heat is the only warmth they have really.

It's Anatoly's turn now, he knows this, but he glances over to where Alexei is laying and says, “Alexei, you want a turn? Can be fun.”

The older man just snorts and makes a face that goes unseen in the dark. “No. I enjoy listening. I'm no story teller. Oleg, you go.”

Oleg rolls his eyes but thinks for a moment. “If I could be anywhere else I'd be back home in Samara. In bed with my wife.”

“That's not how you play,” Vladimir drawls out. In his defense, he's correct. The point of the game is to describe where one would rather be, do as Alexei had just said and tell a story almost. But Anatoly doesn't seem to care about their made up rules and there's the sound of him slapping his younger brother and Vladimir's mutter of, “Ow!” Then Anatoly's, “Go on?”

It's silent for a moment then Oleg continues.

“I want to wake up to her cooking breakfast. Go to sleep after her cooking us dinner.” He sighs as he thinks about his wife. “Anatoly, you go.”

Anatoly nods, it goes unseen, and thinks for a moment. Then closes his eyes. “I'm on the beach, the sand is so hot that it burns my feet. I hate sand, too itchy. It gets everywhere. But right now I don't care. It's bright and sunny and I'm sweating...”

Vladimir falls asleep listening to his brother weave a story of sunshine and sand.

 And he wakes to the guards yelling for them all to get out of their beds, the sorry excuses that they are, and stand at attention against the walls.

The four prisoners are bleary eyed and clearly exhausted but the guards couldn't be bothered to care. They demand for Vladimir to step forward, cuff his hands behind his back and begin leading him from the cell. Anatoly stares after his brother worriedly but doesn't reach out for him like he wants. He'd learned the hard way what doing that can mean for both him and his brother 

Vladimir tries not to look at the two large dogs, one on either side of him, before the guards blindfold him and lead him through the prison. This is nothing new. Except that the walk is taking longer and it's earlier in the morning than usual. He always thinks about trying to fight with the guards, there's only four of them. But the first time he'd tried this had landed him with a broken wrist and a concussion along with one of the dogs biting him hard enough to draw blood on the back of his leg.

The guards didn't like it when anyone fought back and made this fact more than clear.

Sometimes though, they like to goad their prisoners into talking back so that they have an excuse to hit them.

This seems to be Vladimir's lucky morning.

“Can't believe a scum bag like you has a visitor,” one of the guards says. He actually doesn't sound like he's looking for a fight but that he legitimately can't believe Vladimir would have a visitor.

In his defense, all of the prisoners very rarely had visitors. Sure every so often they'd get letters from home. And even rarer they'd get someone, usually a mother or girlfriend or wife, would come to talk to them for an hour. Rarer yet were the conjugal visits.

Vladimir just rolls his eyes from under the blindfold but doesn't open his mouth. Though his curiosity is piqued. He can't think of who would want to visit him. Well, except for maybe one person. But he refuses to let the hope build up. 

The guard continues talking, almost as though he can't stop now that he's begun. Vladimir is willing to bet that this one is a younger one. He hadn't really seen his face well before the blindfold was placed over his eyes.

“She's really pretty too. Don't know how you managed to score a government official.”

Vladimir freezes as the hope and worry flood his being. And is then shoved, hard, by another of the guards. But he doesn't even care. All he can think is,  _ 'Oh fuck.'  _ He already knew that Yelena would not be pleased with him being arrested. Vladimir tries to tell himself that she can't smack him or really even yell at him while guards are in the room with them.

His hopes are quickly crushed as the young guard continues speaking.

“Guess this will be fun for you, a conjugal visit with a government official and all. Getting laid.”

Finally, Vladimir can't bite his tongue anymore. He snorts and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, laid out maybe.” Then is shoved harshly again.

The rest of the walk is silent but for their footsteps and the sound of Vladimir's heart racing in his own ears. Excitement floods his veins as he thinks about seeing Yelena for the first time in just over a year. He wonders how much she's changed. If she looks the same. All too soon they're stopping and Vladimir is being unblindfolded and uncuffed. He rubs at his wrist and enters the room.

Yelena is sitting on the edge of the bed, ankles crossed as she looks at her nails almost boredly. “You took your time getting in here.”

“You took your time even coming for a visit,” Vladimir responds snappily before he can stop himself. The past year hadn’t been kind to him and it showed not just in his appearance but the way he had just spoken to her. 

She glances at him, a small smirk pulling at her lips. She almost looks very apologetic. “I am sorry about that, Volo'ya. But you did get arrested. And of course you would manage to get yourself sent to one of Russia's most well guarded prisons. Congratulations.”

Vladimir gave a small shrug. “You are here to help get me and my brother out of here, not just to make fun of me, right?”

Yelena gives him a sad smile but shakes her head.

“No?” Vladimir asks, a small laugh escaping him. “What do you mean, ' _ no _ '?!” He nearly hisses at her.

Yelena raises an eyebrow but gestures for him to come sit beside her on the bed. He doesn't. So she shrugs and states, “I don't have that pull and you know it. I am thinking of an escape plan though, if that sets your mind at ease any.”

“It... helps, yes.” Vladimir grudgingly admits. Slowly he walks forward to sit beside her. “And your plan is?”

She takes his right hand in hers and pats it. “I will let you know the moment I have it, Volo'ya.”

If she'd been hoping that this would make him happy, she doesn't show her disappointment when it misses the mark.

Vladimir stares at their hands then slowly looks up at her, expression just tired and bored more than anything. “You don't have a plan.”

Yelena tsks at him and holds up her index finger. “I don't have a plan  _ yet _ . I'm working on one. I have to walk the prison, which is difficult to do since they would not let me walk it by myself. And I cannot make it obvious that I'm looking for an escape route for you, now can I?”

He just raises an eyebrow at her. So she lets go of his hand and nudges his leg with hers. Tilts her head slightly towards the small bathroom.

“Go shower. You stink.”

* * *

**_Late December, 2005  
_ ** **_Siberia, Russia – Utkin Prison_ **

Yelena paces, heels clicking against the stone floor as she does so, while she tries to imagine a map in her mind. This time around she and the guards leading her to the room had gone a different route, accidentally showing her more of the prison.

Vladimir tosses her hat up in the air, catches it, then tosses it again. He repeats the process until Yelena is spinning on her heel and snapping for him to stop. He sits up and tosses her hat back to her.

“I can't just not move, Lenosha. I'm antsy. You have been pacing for two hours straight,” Vladimir snaps, eyes narrowing. “It's making me nervous.”

He groans and flops back to lie on the bed when she just ignores him in favor of pacing once more.

“I don't see why you're so upset,” Yelena mutters. “You aren't even doing anything.”

Vladimir shoots up from the bed as though he'd just been struck by lightning and stomps over to her. Grabs her arms and spins her so that she's facing him but doesn't give her a chance to even open her mouth before he's snapping,  _ “You don't see why I am upset?  _ I am in prison, Lena!”

He lets her yank away but continues to raise his voice ever so slightly.

“While I am in here, watching you pace, getting a nice reprieve from the guards, my brother is in our cell or worse!” He points to the door as if that proves his point any further.

Yelena frowns in understanding. “I know.”

“Do you though?!”

His face is turning red from anger and his hands are shaking by his sides. Slowly she reaches out and gently rests her hand on his arm.

“I  _ know _ ,” she repeats earnestly. “And I am trying to find a way out for you both. Just give me time.”

Vladimir sighs, practically deflates really, but nods. Yelena looks him over, really looks him over.

When he'd been led to the small room she'd already been pacing, snapped for him to shower, and had barely really noticed him almost. But now she can see he's tired, purely exhausted. Bags under his eyes. Covered in so many bruises. He doesn't even flinch when she lightly traces over them.

“If you could do anything, go anywhere, where would you wish to go?” She asks.

He shrugs. “If I could do anything I'd run the bratva myself.” The idea is a fun one. Vasily had been caught many a time, yes this was a fact, but he was able to walk free soon after being arrested. It made one want what he had. A pause where he purses his lips for a moment and stares just past her, mind working fast. “But I can't rule when the king is still in place, now can I?”

Yelena hums. Moves past him to sit on the edge of the bed, ankles crossing. “Where would you want to go?”

He shrugs again as he moves to go sit beside her. “Home.”

Yelena rolls her eyes. “Anywhere in the world, anything you want, and you want to go back to your dingy apartment and run Vasily's mafia?” She's less than impressed with his dreams.

“Hey. My apartment is not dingy. It's just small.” Vladimir half jokes. But he pauses as she raises an eyebrow at him and thinks. As a child he'd wanted to go somewhere else, didn't want to stay in Moscow for the rest of his life. It's a childish dream but a dream nonetheless. And he sees no harm in admitting it. “I always wanted to go to America.”

“And you would still want to run the mafia?”

A breathy laugh from Vladimir. “Well I'm not going to do an honest living, now am I?” He asks, holding up his tattooed hand for her to see. He drops it back to the mattress. And a plan begins to form in her mind, growing and expanding much like a spiders web.

The next day Vladimir is led back to his cell, hands cuffed behind his back and eyes covered. When he sees the state his brother is in, bruised and bloody and sitting on the dirty floor, he has the urge to yell at the guards. Goad them into a fight and take as many down as he can.

Anatoly just grabs his arm and shakes his head. “Not worth you getting another concussion, Volodya.”

* * *

 

**_December 30, 2006  
_** ** _Siberia, Russia – Utkin Prison_**  

For three years he and his brother had been in this frozen version of hell. But unlike Anatoly, Vladimir had something keeping him going. He only saw Yelena once a year for only twenty-four hours but it was enough. That and his sheer will and determination not to give the guards the satisfaction of him dying.

And today seems to be his lucky day as he recognizes the way to the room where he visits with Yelena. It doesn't even matter that he's blindfolded and it isn't just because of the bond that he knows where he is, it's because his feet seem to know the way now. And not only is he seeing Yelena but she's grinning like a cat that just caught the mouse the moment he enters the room.

“I have a plan.” It's a simple statement. She says it as though she is just discussing the weather. It fills Vladimir with excitement, he bubbles slightly in spot. Then deflates when she continues. “You're going to need a knife.”

He grins. “You have one for me? You managed to bring one in here?”

Yelena rolls her eyes. “Of course not. They check me before letting me in here. You're going to have to use your own.”

His eyes widen slightly as he waves his hands vaguely at himself. “Lena. Lenosha. My heart. Do I  _ look _ like I have a knife on me?”

The woman just stands from the bed and makes her way over to him. “I know you don't have an actual knife but you can be very smart, very resourceful. Think. Is there anything, anything at all, that you could use as a knife?”

Vladimir paces as he thinks. “They give us plastic spoons for our meals. I have a toothbrush.” He hums to himself. “A dead body. Tolik's toothbrush-”

“A dead body?” Yelena asks, brows furrowed in confusion. She looks at him, head tilted slightly, and runs this over in her mind. “Why- how- what?”

Her rare spluttering is enough to surprise him into ceasing his pacing. “The guards beat one of my cell mates, Alexei. He died, internal bleeding we think. And they left him in the cell as some weird form of punishment.”

“That is disgusting.”

Vladimir made a face. “No what was disgusting was that he was a cannibal. It made sleeping at night very difficult.”

Yelena closes her eyes for a moment and tries not to shudder. Not much could disgust her to the point of vomiting but just the thought of someone eating the flesh off of another person... it made her want a shower.

Vladimir held up one finger, his right hand moving to rest on his hip. “It can still get worse.” He ignores Yelena's mutter of, “Oh lord,” and goes back to his pacing as he says, “We have rats.”

Yelena turns her back to him and nearly gags.

“And those rats are enjoying their meal of Alexei's body."

She held her hand up. “Please. Stop.”

A scoff from Vladimir. “Oh are you sure? It gets better. They've eaten through most of his...” He trails off, eyes wide as a thought forms

Yelena makes a face. “Enough. Before I am sick.”

“No, wait! This is good!” Vladimir says, turning to face her. He reaches for her shoulders and turns her to face him. “Lenosha, they've eaten through most of his chest!”

The expression of pure and utter disgust that Yelena gives him doesn't seem to fully register with Vladimir.

“Do you think a bone would be a good enough replacement for a knife?”

Yelena lights up like the sun. “I think so, yes. Except that tearing a bone out isn't going to be easy, Volo'ya.”

Vladimir shrugs. “I'll figure it out. What do I do once I've got it?”

A smirk dances its way onto her face. “You get to have some fun.” She describes to him in detail what the prison looks like, or what she's seen of it. Tells him how to exit the prison. Where to go once he and Anatoly are out. Warns that it's going to be freezing cold. And Vladimir listens closely, etching it into his memory. Getting past the guards will be easy he thinks. It's the huge dogs he's worried about.

The moment she's done talking he pulls her into a deep kiss. “You are an angel,” he whispers against her lips, grinning widely.

She smiles softly, a small tilt of her head and eyes closed. “I try.” When she opens her eyes she sees him nearly vibrating in spot with adrenaline. It's clear to see that he's excited at their plan of escaping the prison. She can't blame him. She's excited for his and Anatoly's freedom too.

Vladimir pulls her flush against him and kisses her again. Yelena breaks the kiss when she feels him against her hip and rolls her eyes.

“Seriously?”

Vladimir doesn't even have the care to look ashamed for his hard on. Just shrugs and says, “What? I have you here, I'm in a great mood, and,” he runs his hands from her shoulders to her elbows and back up, “I haven't slept with you in over three years now, Lenoshka.”

A light scoff from Yelena but she nods all the same and pulls him down for a kiss then pushes him backwards to the bed. And he grins against her mouth and begins unbuttoning her stark white blouse swiftly but careful not to pop the buttons off.

This time is not like their first and only two times together. Those had been slow, very soft, more awkward than anything and though they had been enjoyable for Yelena she still didn't really like sex. Didn't need it like Vladimir seemed to. But this, she can indulge him. It's messy, not just this time but the first two as well, and Yelena almost feels bad for thinking it's just too much work.

The bed isn't very comfortable, old and creaks the whole time. It's distracting. Until Yelena is on Vladimir and watching his face.

They both lie on the bed, limbs tangled and covered in sweat. Yelena rolls to her back, stretches her arms above her head and ignores how Vladimir watches her.

“I'm hungry. What are the chances of those idiot guards bringing us food?” She asks tiredly.

Vladimir shrugs but sits up from the bed, snatches the sheet up and wraps it around his waist as he makes his way over to the door. He doesn't care about how much a disheveled mess he appears to be. But the guards outside the room pause when they see him opening the door.

Long red marks all over his chest, some on his arms. A handful of bite marks and bruises that they are sure were not left by any guard in the facility. Hair sticking out. Lip bleeding.

One of the guards can't help but to ask, “Good god. Did she do that to you? Your lip is bleeding.”

Vladimir makes a face, surprised because he hadn't even noticed, and touches at his lip. He raises an eyebrow as his finger comes away with a smear of blood. “Huh.” Then waves his hand. “Unimportant. Do you have apples? She loves apples. And she is rather hungry.”

“Volo'ya!”

“Ah, got to go. Bring those apples!” Vladimir says before shutting the door once again.

* * *

**_December 31, 2006  
_** ** _Siberia, Russia – Utkin Prison_**  

Vladimir isn't taken right back to his cell but instead led for a round of torture from the guards. He fights back as much as he can just as they knew they would and they grow rougher with their treatment to the point where somehow one of them cuts Vladimir's face. He doesn't cry out, hisses in pain and bites his tongue, but refuses to give them the satisfaction of screaming.

He's taken back to his cell and finally yells because they replace him with Anatoly.

Vladimir waits for a few moments before going over to Alexei's body. The rats scurry away the closer he gets to the body and he swiftly rolls the dead man onto his back to see the large hole in his chest.

It's disgusting but it'll do.

He crouches down, reaches into Alexei's chest, and yanks hard on one of the bones. Only to swear under his breath when the bone didn't so much as even budge. He pushes on it. Pulls. Stands and kicks at the man's chest several times, drops to his knees and pulls and pushes on it once more. It feels like an eternity before one of the bones finally breaks off in his hand and he sighs in relief.

“Finally.” He looks it over. It's small but sharp and will get the job done. Then leans his head back and groans loudly. “I'm going to need to do that all over again for Tolik's... Shit.”

He stands and begins the process all over again of pushing, pulling, and kicking at the dead man's body. Then counts himself lucky when he decides to take a break at the right time.

Just a few moments after he's sat down across the cell, his brother is tossed in. Anatoly gasps, winces and groans, as he tries to sit up with Vladimir's help.

“Soon it will be just you.” Anatoly says it simply, like he's just stating facts. And it nearly breaks Vladimir's heart right there.

But Vladimir just shakes is head and says, “No. We are leaving. Tonight.” He holds up the shiv of bone for his brother to see and nearly grins wickedly when the light comes back on in Anatoly's eyes.

Anatoly reaches out for the bone and looks it over. “Where did you get this?” He asked breathlessly, a newfound hope covering his features for the first time in a long time, mind already moving quickly to think of a plan.

Vladimir gestured over to their dead cellmate. “Alexei left us a gift. The guards should never have left him for the rats.” He moved back over to Alexei's body and rolled him over onto his back once more.

“We will go back to Moscow?” Anatoly asks. He still sounds tired but less defeated now.

Vladimir shakes his head. “America. Where we will rule as kings.” A sharp pull and another piece of bone breaks off in his hand. Vladimir can't help but send a quick prayer of thanks as it does so.

The brothers think over their plan, smirks growing as they do so. It's already rather late in the afternoon so they just have to wait a handful of hours more before calling for the guards who will be patrolling.

Finally, time comes and Vladimir bangs on the cell door. “Help! Help please! My brother isn't breathing!” He screams. He ignores as prisoners in other cell blocks yell for him to shut up. Someone dying in their cells at night is no new type of occurrence. The two guards patrolling this section of the hall share a look and nearly ignore Vladimir but he keeps screaming for their help.

“He's my brother! Please! Help him!” Vladimir cries out.

Anatoly snorts from the floor and gives a low mutter of, “Come on. I'm dead here. At least sound a bit more shaken up about it...”

It takes all of Vladimir's willpower not to turn and stick his tongue out at his brother. Instead he just beats at the metal door and yells for help. Almost brings on the crocodile tears. But one of the guards sighs and makes his way over to their cell.

“Get against the wall!” The man yells.

And Vladimir moves quickly away from the door to press his back against the cold stone wall. Both guards filter in, door shutting behind them so that Vladimir can't run. The guard who had yelled for Vladimir to move from the door goes to Anatoly while the other stands in front of Vladimir, ready to beat him should Vladimir make any sudden moves.

His focus is entirely on the blonde. Until his partner lets out a startled cry as Anatoly stabs him in the throat with the bone shiv.

“What the-” His own cries are muffled as Vladimir covers his mouth and stabs him in the neck twice. It does more stunning than anything and the guard fights back against Vladimir. Until Anatoly is jumping on him and reaching his arm around to stab the guard directly in the front of the throat.

They let him fall to the ground, spluttering and gasping over his own blood.

“That was,” Vladimir trails off, wipes his hands on his dirty pants. “Easy?”

Anatoly makes a face. “No, that was too easy. Let's hurry up before the next round of guards is here. Take their uniforms.”

They strip the guards of their uniforms and Anatoly snorts as he's changing into it. “These fucking bastards have much warmer uniforms than us. Mother fuckers.”

Vladimir snickers softly and delivers a swift kick to one of the now dead men. “Let's take as many of them out as we can, hm?”

His brother smirks as he pulls the hat on his head. “Let's.”

The unlock the cell door and walk out. Walk a few steps down the hall to the next cell and unlock it. The moment the door is thrown open the three prisoners move to stand against the wall, glaring dangerously at the two men they believe to be guards. But then frown in confusion when Anatoly tosses them his bone shiv and walks away with a limp to his step, Vladimir hot on his heels.

They don't shut the door, hope that the other prisoners will follow their lead. It doesn't take long before the other four cells are unlocked and more prisoners are walking out, muttering to themselves and staring at the back of Anatoly and Vladimir's heads. They're confused, that much is easily seen, but they feel freer than they have in a very long time.

“Those aren't guards,” one prisoner whispers, voice floating to the brother's regardless of how softly he'd spoken.

The prisoners begin branching off, not caring for their cell mates in the least but just wanting to get completely free. Which is just fine for Anatoly and Vladimir. They just want to cause enough chaos and confusion to where they can slip from the prison's grounds. In the end, that's exactly what happens. The prisoners run into other, real, guards and fight with them.

Gunshots go off and people are falling, not just prisoners but guards as well as the prisoners forcefully take their weapons. And amidst the confusion the brothers run out of the prison, Vladimir supporting most of Anatoly's weight but refusing to leave him. Vladimir counts it as a blessing that the guards have the dogs on the inside of the prison, hoping to get the prisoners back under control.

They run.

And Yelena was right. It's even more cold than Vladimir had really thought it would be. The cells were cold, yes, as were dawn exercises but this isn't the same. They walk and shiver for what feels like an eternity before finally a very old car's rattling shatters the night's silence.

Vladimir brightens up as he realizes that this must be Yelena but then frowns in worry when he sees how horribly she's driving. And when she parks and beeps the horn at them, Anatoly very slowly turns to look up at his younger brother and whispers, “We're not getting in that car with her, are we?”

A gulp from Vladimir and he starts walking forward, Anatoly's arm thrown over his shoulder. “Haven't got much of a choice. I know you don't pray often- well, ever really, but you might want to maybe consider it.”

* * *

**_January 1, 2007  
_ ** **_Krasnoyarsk, Russia – Trans Siberian Train_ **

The door opens and Yelena enters the compartment. She locks the door and sits beside a now clean Vladimir on the bottom bunk. Anatoly is half asleep, also clean now, on the top.

The door opens and Yelena enters the compartment. She locks the door and sits beside a now clean Vladimir on one the bottom bunk. Anatoly is half asleep, also clean now, on the top.

“Where are we going?” Vladimir asks. He sounds dead exhausted, worn and tired and now that he's clean and they're in a room with much better lighting Yelena can see just how terrible the past three years have been to them both. 

He huffs when she tosses her coat over his face and tosses it back down at her only for her to catch it and place it on the foot of Anatoly's bed. Anatoly can't help but to laugh at them.

“I'm not sure. We can get off in a stop or two if you two want, but after you rest of course. I have a surprise waiting for you both in St. Petersburg,” she says as she runs her fingers through her hair. 

Anatoly tenses slightly and rolls to his side to stare at her. The very name of the city brings forth memories he'd rather have kept locked away. “What are we going to do in St. Petersburg?”

If Vladimir notices anything in his tone, he does a very great job of pretending that he doesn't.

Yelena on the other hand does notice his tone and tense body language and gives him a very small reassuring smile. “I got you a goat,” she jokes monotonously.

Vladimir rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling in confusion. He's used to Yelena's odd sense of humor but he's still never sure when she's making a joke or being serious. While his brother is just very confused and shows it by kicking up at the mattress above him, effectively kicking Vladimir directly in the butt. Vladimir curses at him.

“Vova. She said she got us a goat!”

The blonde rolled his eyes. “Lenosha, you did not get us a goat.”

Yelena just shrugs. “You'll see. Sleep now.”

When she reaches over to turn the lamp off both brothers nearly jump from their beds, eyes wide and a hand outstretched with barely audible cries of  _ no don't  _ slipping past their lips as if on accident.

She understands.

They're afraid of the dark. It reminds them of prison and she knows that feeling in a way.

So she moves to sit on the couch and keeps the lamp on. Anatoly falls asleep quicker than Vladimir does, snoring loudly much to Yelena's amusement. He's still clearly in a lot of pain from Utkin and exhaustion had been radiating from him since they'd slipped onto the train in secret. Yelena is happy that he's able to sleep contently now 

But Vladimir finds himself unable to sleep yet.

He climbs out of the top bunk, careful not to make any noise and wake his brother, and moves to sit beside Yelena. They say nothing for a few moments, just enjoying each others company.

“Can't sleep?”

Vladimir huffs a breathy laugh. “Bed is too comfortable. Never thought I'd say that.” A pause. Then, “I sleep on my right side, you know?”

She does, this is nothing new to her, but she nods all the same. So he continues speaking.

“It's hard to sleep when my face hurts.” He touches his right cheek, close towards his eye only a few centimeters away from where the cut was. Then drops his hand to his lap. Refuses to look at her because he knows that she'll be looking at him not in pity or even annoyance at his what appeared to be vanity but in worry. And that's so much worse.

Yelena feels awkward for a moment. She wants to fix this, make him feel better. But doesn't know how. So she asks and hopes that he can tell her what he needs from her. Only to frown in worry when he just shakes his head.

“It's going to scar.”

She nods. “It looks like it will, yes. Is that a bad thing, Volo'ya?”

And finally he looks at her. “ _ Is it a bad thing. _ ” He repeats appalled before scoffing in minor self loathing. “It's going to mark up your face too!”

Confusion rolls over him when Yelena only shrugs then scoots closer to him and gently takes his hand in hers.

“And it will comfort me just like these do,” she says in a tone that's almost gentle as she touches the marks on his wrist.

He looks down at her wrist, sees his own scars staring at him, pale and old but still there all the same. How those scars can comfort her, he'll never know. He'd never really hated his scars. But those, the self inflicted ones, he can't stand. He can't think of anything to say and so says nothing. This seems to be just fine with Yelena of course. She wasn't much one for words, preferred to listen. They go back to just enjoying the silence between them.

Vladimir takes small comfort in it. He knows it's only a matter of time before she has to leave him for government or spy work, which one he's never sure of.

* * *

**_January, 2007  
_ ** **_Kazan, Tatarstan_ **

The first thing that both brothers want to do when they get off the train is go to a bar. Yelena indulges them after finding a hotel. They go with her to buy more clothes as the ones she'd brought for the train don't fit exactly right and they'd much prefer to go out in clothes that they feel comfortable in. And so it's rather late when they finally go to find a bar.

But drinking as much as they do after three years of no alcohol and on a mostly empty stomach has the expected results. Yelena has to practically drag them back to their hotel room. She flushes and threatens to shove Vladimir into oncoming traffic if he doesn't stop loudly proclaiming his love for her on the walk back to the hotel.

Anatoly snickers, leans more of his weight against Yelena, and 'whispers', “I think my little brother is just a little bit drunk.”

Yelena snorts and grabs his sleeve in one hand and Vladimir's in the other. “Ah yes. Because he's the only one drunk tonight,” she says sarcastically, looking up at him.

The brunette just nods and gestures to himself. “Clearly I am not drunk!” His words are only slightly slurred and it makes Yelena raise an eyebrow, which he doesn't notice her looking at him as though he's grown a second head for his lies. “I am so sober, little sister, and you worry too much!”

She freezes for only a millisecond as he slips and calls her his sister. That was new, not unpleasant by any means, but new nonetheless. She likes it. A grin tries to grow on her face before she bites it back.

Vladimir laughs loudly and moves to practically hang off of his brother. “I'm not drunk either!” His words are actually more slurred than Anatoly's but Yelena doesn't point it out. Instead she stops them from walking into a light pole. “But I am tired. We, we should,” he gestures to the three of them. “We need to go back to our hotel room. Yes?”

Anatoly laughs and tries to hold Vladimir up. It's only with Yelena's subtle help that neither crash to the pavement like the fools they're insisting upon acting like.

“I agree. I am also very tired.”

Yelena rolls her eyes. “That would be where I'm taking you morons. Now just keep walking. 

They begin nearly shouting their praises for her all the way to their hotel room.

Once she's managed to shove them into the room Anatoly stumbles, kicking his shoes off as he goes, to the bed nearest the door where he collapses face first. He lets out a content sigh, tugs a pillow close and hugs it. “I am going to sleep so good. So nice. Leave the lamp on.” Then rolls to his side and is snoring within moments.

It's almost adorable.

Yelena watches Vladimir sway as he tries to walk across the room to the other bed for a few moments before going to Anatoly. She unfolds the blanket at the foot of the bed and almost awkwardly places it over him. It wouldn't do well for him to wake up cold she thinks.

A loud thudding noise breaks her train of thought then Vladimir swears loudly. In French. Which is new to her. And amusing when she realizes that he's just cursing at the desk and calling it a miserable excuse for a tree.

Vladimir starts laughing as he almost falls off the edge of the foot of their bed. “Did you know that Tolik knows Italian?” She shakes her head but he doesn't even notice as he continues talking. “Oleg and Alexei, they used to say that we talked in our sleep. But that I spoke French and Tolik,” Vladimir laughs and falls against the mattress, “he would be speaking Italian!”

Yelena rolls her eyes, amused, and crosses her arms over her chest. Then frowns in worry when Vladimir rolls to his left side and sighs out, “I'm cold.”

She walks over to him and sits on the bed beside him. “Why don't you get under the covers then, dear?”

Bright blue eyes stare up at her and he childishly shakes his head as he buries his face into the pillow. “Too comfy,” he says, response slightly muffled from the pillow.

Yelena cards her fingers through his hair. It's soft to the touch, much softer than she thought it would be if she's honest. “You are a mess, Volo'ya. A child.” He just groans but doesn't say anything. Without even thinking about it she starts humming an old lullaby her mama had sang to her. And within moments Vladimir is snoring, face finally not buried into his pillow.

He sleeps on his left side.

* * *

**_January, 2007  
_** ** _St. Petersburg, Russia_**  

Alexei meets them in St. Petersburg and hands false passports over to Yelena who in turn hands them Anatoly and Vladimir. He walks away, giving them privacy to say their goodbyes. He's not sure whether Vladimir has realized that Yelena isn't going with them and he doesn't want to be around to hear it when he does.

Yelena waits until he's far enough away before swiftly hugging Anatoly around his middle. This rare show of affection from her startles the brunette but he slowly wraps his arms around Yelena's shoulders and pats her back with one hand in confusion before realization dawns on him.

She wasn't coming with them. And Vladimir didn't know it yet if the raised eyebrow at Yelena's back was any indication. Anatoly takes a deep breath through his nose and hugs her tighter, whispering, “Take care of yourself, alright, Lena?” He just barely feels her nod before she's letting go of him and taking a step back.

Anatoly pats Vladimir on the arm then leans down and picks up his bag and walks a few steps closer to the ship, leaving the blondes to say their goodbyes.

“I suppose that this is goodbye then. For now,” Yelena says, hands in her coat pockets and shaking as she stares past her soulmate.

Vladimir freezes, shock painting his face. “What? You... you are not coming with us? With me?” He sounds younger like he had before the three long years in Utkin. It hurts Yelena's heart in a way she didn't like.

She turns her attention to him and looks torn. Vladimir can almost feel just how torn she is through their bond but it does nothing to stop his own heartache from bleeding through to her.

“Volo'ya, you knew that I wasn't going to be able to leave Russia,” she whispers to him.

He purses his lips and she can practically see the gears turning in his mind as he tries to figure out a solution. Then he looks back at her. “Then I won't go. I'll stay. We can go back to Moscow. Tolik wants to anyway.” He frowns in confusion when she just shakes her head. “You're trying to make me leave.”

A shrug and a quiet, “Alexei was right.”

Vladimir only becomes even more confused by her response. “Right? About what?”

“I'm as subtle as a gun when it comes to you. It's only a matter of time before Tischenko figures it out. That you are my soulmate. My weakness. And I can take any punishment he gives me but I cannot let him hurt you. I realize that now.” She looks down. Feels ashamed that she's let their bond grow as much as it had to where she'd rather kill anyone in order to not lose Vladimir. She can only imagine what her father would say if he knew. Or worse, what he'd do.

Her answer only makes Vladimir scoff, a scowl forming. “So you're, what? Trying to protect me?”

“Clearly.”

“Lenosha. I can take care of myself.” Vladimir tries to keep himself calm but his heart is racing in his chest. He knows how Yelena looks when she's determined and set her mind. There's no changing her choices when she looks like this.

She tilts her head towards the ship. “Prove it. I will see you in just a few months. Go to New York. I will find you. No matter where you are.” She rests her hand on his chest right over his heart.

Anatoly stands next to him on the cruise ship as they leave St. Petersburg behind. Nuges his you her brother with his shoulder and says with an exaggerated sigh, “I knew it was too good a dream to hope Lena was going to help me start my goat farm.”

Vladimir cracks a smile but doesn’t laugh. Can’t yet.

* * *

**_January, 2007  
_ ** **_Hell's Kitchen, New York_ **

“I know I just came by a week ago to visit but I just wanted to see you again,” an auburn haired college student says. It seems to not matter how many times he comes to visit his father, he still feels awkward. “I'm back though. From Foggy's. His mom makes a great ham.”

He holds his cane in his hands tightly, wrings his hands around the handle as his jaw tenses. “I'm doing better now. About Elektra I mean. It's been a few months and I miss her, I do, and I know I shouldn't. But I... I do, dad.” He sighs and runs a gloved hand through his already messy hair.

“At first, I told you this already, I did wish she were my soulmate. But her scars didn't match up. I didn't care. I still loved her, still do in a way, and didn't care if the universe had someone else picked out for me.” He tilts his head, lips pursing slightly. “But now I think I'm glad the universe didn't pick her to be my match. It'd have hurt even more when she left.”

He keeps his thoughts and insecurities to himself. The feeling of loneliness and the doubts that the universe truly has anyone meant just for him even though the scars that litter his body prove that he has someone out there.

It's hours later when he and Foggy have unpacked and Foggy is snoring loudly away that Matt trails his fingers over the scars on his wrist. They're very clearly self inflicted, he'd known this for years. He now wondered, not for the first time, if his soulmate had felt the overwhelming loneliness as he did. If the scars didn't continue showing up on his body he'd have wondered if his soulmate had possibly given in and committed suicide.

Trailing his fingers over the scars makes him feel less alone. That even though they're not together, haven't met yet, Matt knows that he's not alone.


End file.
